I have Hobo in my Blood

I have a moving problem

Nomad. Hobo. Drifter. Lost on a journey. I’m not sure what category I fall into. Maybe it’s a disorder.

I have a tendency to shuffle furniture around all the time. TV over there. Rotate the rug 90 degrees. Make this room a study. The bed goes against that wall.

My wife often comes home to a different house. Why do I do this? Is it a desire to just feel like I’m not in a rut? Is it the restlessness of life?

Because of this, I don’t fret over politics. I am not scared of what the DOW does. And I’m not gonna lose sleep over how the Washington Commodores do this year. Not that these aren’t important. And not that I shouldn’t be involved in society. But I know there is something bigger, better, greater. So that’s where my heart is.

Maybe the real reason is I just don’t feel home here. No, I’m not talking the place I live. Central Virginia is beautiful. It’s not the great church at which I serve that makes me restless. So am I talking about the residence I share with my wife? Nope … I’m referring to here … earth. This is not my home. There will be a day I am called home. And though I am very okay with that day being later, I know it’s happening. And for now, I’m just passing through.

So I just can’t stop feeling that the place I am in isn’t truly satisfying.

Till I finally get ‘home’ … I’m gonna make do with what God had for me here. But be aware, I’ll keep moving the furniture around.