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Jump-Start Your Day

Thursday, May 31st, '18

All rights reserved © message by Kris Jackson

 

DRIVING HOME

"I'm going home..." (Luke 15:18 paraphrase)

 

Dorothy clicked her heels and repeated, "There's no place like home; there's no place like home..." Others may kick up their heels and say it. Either way all recognize earth's most powerful magnet, home. Home isn't a house; it's a feeling, a relationship, a dimension. A teepee is a house, as is an apartment, an igloo, a mansion or a motor home. It's not "sleeping in my own bed" that makes the serviceman in Iraq long for home (though a mattress sounds inviting); it's Mom and Dad, old school buddies, and most of all...the girl. Home is where the heart is, yea, a sweetheart. A philosophical preacher would allegorize that Heaven is the soul's true home, which I'm sure it eventually is, but the current emotion needs someone to hug who wears skin. When the prodigal son ran home his father "fell on his neck, and kissed him". He didn't go home because he wanted a lecture; he went home because he wanted love. Pulling into the driveway after a long absence is always a nervous event. You don't have to see yellow ribbons but it sure is reassuring when the family dog runs to greet you, his tail wagging with reunion pleasure.

 

Application? I'm on the long road home today. It's been weeks since I've seen Mama, though the ad says long distance is the next best thing to being there. I'll make pit-stops in Albuquerque and Amarillo but there will be no loitering. It's time to go home. The meetings in California have been phenomenal, a men's retreat in Bakersfield, Teen Challenge in Shafter, a literal breakout with the guys in Lerdo prison, revivals in Porterville, LeMoore and McFarland, etc. We've made a dent in the enemy's camp. Ding-dong the wicked witch is dead! But even with yellow brick roads and emerald castles Dorothy longs for a balloon ride back to Kansas. Traveling evangelists, too, miss home. Did I mention there's a four-week old grandson waiting there? Jonathan Andrew, another little, J.J. Last time I went to the west coast for a month Joel Alexander came into the world. A lot can be missed out on when people are apart.

 

Elton said goodbye to the yellow brick road and went home. I guess I'll always have a touch of the apostle Paul in me. I have trouble being content with mowing the yard. The world is my pulpit. Some guys are just the opposite and couldn't survive if the Mrs. didn't sack their sandwich lunch. But God has suited me for ministry on the open road. My calling is to pester churches, not pastor them. And that necessitates motel stays, breakfasts at Denny's and countless tanks of gas. But the soul can't have two homes. It doesn't work in the spiritual, much less the natural. Jesus said you cannot serve both God and mammon. Though my body stands at a pulpit in some far off city, my heart must echo its pulse at home. The country song could have been written, "Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be evangelists", but I still believe it's the most rewarding thing I could do. I love watching altars fill, men with tough exteriors cry, mothers leap for joy when a backslidden son or daughter returns to Christ, or lights simply come on in the eyes of those grasping new revelation as I preach. (Not to mention golfing with Pastor Noel!) But success on the road wouldn't mean a thing if there wasn't an Auntie Em waiting back in Kansas to share it with. So...I'm going home. And to anyone else reading this little devotion from a Day's Inn, Ho-Jo or wherever you've hung your heart, oops, I mean hat, tonight, my wish for you too is a speedy trip home. Just because it isn't perfect doesn't mean it isn't good. It was God who put you together so many years ago. And His love is still there even when it seems hid behind the shadows.


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