There's no place like home

It really irritates me the way facebook asks you to say where you live and then keeps on asking what your home town is. My home town is where I live. I don't think I am the only one who has this problem, but I might be the only one who is awkward and doesn't want to write Ramsbottom twice. Home for me isn't a specific location (like where I grew up or where my parents are), it's where I feel comfortable and wherever I have lived I have always called home. It's not just facebook either - people are always asking 'where are you from?' By that they mean, I think, 'which other place, rather than the place you are now do you have an affiliation with that is reasonably strong?' Well, actually, nowhere. 

I was walking today and walked past ruined house after ruined house. The scenery and the style of the houses reminded me of my Wright ancestors who came from a small hamlet in the middle of the moors. Here they are outside their house not far from Masham in Yorkshire:

This family lived in the same small selection of houses, right next door to each other, for most of the 19th century. They had somewhere they had always called home. It was home though, not just because they lived there, but because the people they loved lived there. 

I wonder if now we have too many options, which is why we don't put down roots. I have lived in ten different houses in six different places. My identity is not formed by where I come from but from where I am. My only affiliation appears to be to the Midlands and the North. If I moved south maybe I might become a Northerner. 

Bricks and mortar are temporary. As I continued to walk today I saw the most beautiful tree next to one of the ruins. God created that tree, and while the house that humans built lies spectacularly in ruins, and the sign that humans put up fades, the tree continues to grow. 

God is so much bigger than we can imagine, yet so often it is easier to limit our own expectations of God because we feel more comfortable establishing our own identity. I walked through a farm today. The public footpath was first blocked by a car, and then by the washing, and then I was leaving the farm two massive Alsatians started barking and then before I knew it they were chasing me off the farm (down the public footpath). The people who lived on the farm clearly wanted to establish boundaries that saw off any member of the public who deigned to use that footpath. 

When we are comfortable in our own lives, our own homes, our own churches, do we block God's way by putting stuff in the way? Do we limit our expectations, not because we don't believe he can do more, but because we don't really want him to do more?

My identity is not found in where I was born or where I lived last year or where my parents are, but is found in where I am now, journeying with God. May my expectations of God be never limited by anything.

'Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.'            Ephesians 3:20-21