Belle the basset hound spends the majority of her time here. We call this place the “rest”.
“Belle, get on your rest,” we say. And she obeys…as long as we have a dog treat in our hands.
On her rest, Belle curls up like a puppy, or sprawls out in a most unladylike fashion. The rest is for stretching, scratching and snoring. Since Belle isn’t allowed on the couch or upstairs, her rest is where she is the most at home.
But when the rest gets too hairy, or slobbery, or stinky (like Belle herself), I put it in the washing machine. Those hours of laundering are anxious ones for Belle, because she has nowhere to land. Belle paces around the living room, whining. She pulls people-blankets out of my basket and tries to curl up on them. If I spread an old bath towel on the floor for her to use, she kicks it around with contempt. Usually she settles for the welcome mat by the front door, and pouts there until the dryer finally buzzes and the rest returns.
I know how she feels.
Some days, I have that uneasy restlessness, too. A nagging sense that I don’t entirely belong—that this place isn’t quite right. In the past, my longing feeling stemmed from discontentment, and I battled it for years, but this is different. Now, even as I find my joy and fulfillment in the Lord, an element of wandering remains.
I’m homesick.
After all, I’m not a citizen of this place. My citizenship is in heaven, and I eagerly await a Savior from there. (Philippians 3:20) And the homecoming will be indescribable! The dwelling of God will be with me…God himself will be with me and be my God. (Revelation 21:3-4) Reunion, restoration, completion…how I long for it! How my heart aches for the day when I will finally, wholly, be at rest.
My rest is where I’ll be most at home.
Previous Lessons from a Basset Hound:
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