Every once in a while, especially during very frantic, busy seasons of life, I have a recurring dream where I return to my childhood home. The owner lets me walk through it, but nothing looks the same. Even walls have been moved. Still, I know it’s my house, the place where I spent seventeen years of my life. Often — not always — the dream ends with me back in my own home, but it looks like a scaled-down version of my childhood home. The dream is so vivid that I wake up convinced that I will go downstairs and find a three-quarter-sized paneled family room and a formal living room with blue carpet.
There’s something about the busy-ness of life that makes me ache for the familiar. Home base. It’s no wonder my mind travels back to that house, even if only in my dreams; that ephemeral tether to my former life is comforting. It reminds me of who I am and what I value. But it also reminds me how far I’ve strayed from my home base.
Home means different things to different people, but to me, it means re-connecting with my roots. Sometimes, I’m allowed full-circle moments, but they rarely look the same the second time around. Still, they ring softly of remembrance, and I know they’re uniquely mine.
Then the LORD said to Joshua, “Command the priests carrying the ark of the Testimony to come up out of the Jordan.” So Joshua commanded the priests, “Come up out of the Jordan.” And the priests came up out of the river carrying the ark of the covenant of the LORD. No sooner had they set their feet on the dry ground than the waters of the Jordan returned to their place and ran at flood stage as before. On the tenth day of the first month the people went up from the Jordan and camped at Gilgal on the eastern border of Jericho. And Joshua set up at Gilgal the twelve stones they had taken out of the Jordan. He said to the Israelites, “In the future when your descendants ask their fathers, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them, ‘Israel crossed the Jordan on dry ground.'” — Joshua 4:15-22 (NIV)