There’s a certain kind of longing woven into every human heart — a quiet ache for Home.
Not the house we grew up in.
Not the dream house on a vision board.
But the deeper, eternal Home we were created for.

The one found in the presence of God.

I think most of us know that feeling, even if we can’t always name it. The sense that we’re searching for something familiar… something safe… something that whispers you belong here. We chase it in new cities, new relationships, new seasons, new rooms. But the truth is, the Home we’re longing for is not a place at all.

It’s Him.

Wherever God is, Home is already there.

And because the Holy Spirit lives within us, we are never actually “away.”
We may feel lost, wandering, or in-between…
but spiritually, we’re already Home.

That truth changes everything.

It means we don’t have to strive to feel grounded.
We don’t have to wait for life to calm down before peace returns.
We don’t have to earn our way back to His presence — because He never left.

Jesus said the Father would send the Spirit as a helper, a comforter, a constant companion.
A presence that stays.
A Presence that settles.
A Presence that whispers, “You’re safe. I’m here. This is Home.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about that — how God doesn’t ask us to find Him; He finds us.
In grocery store aisles.
In carpool lanes.
In the dusty back corner of a vintage shop.
In early morning sunlight on the sewing table.
In the quiet moment right before we fall asleep.
He meets us in the ordinary, turning everyday moments into sacred ground.

The older I get, the more I realize that “Home” is not something we go back to — it’s something we carry.
It’s the Holy Spirit inside us, guiding, comforting, and anchoring our hearts when the world feels unfamiliar.
And that inner belonging is often what keeps us soft in a world that can be so hard.

Lately, I’ve found myself drawn to vintage skeleton keys.
Not because of the aesthetic — though they are beautiful — but because of what they represent.
Keys open doors.
Keys guard rooms.
Keys belong to homes.

And somehow, holding an old key makes me think about the rooms God has opened in my life…
and the ones He’s gently closed.
The doors He protected me from.
The places He carried me out of.
The safe spaces He brought me into.
And the spiritual “home” He keeps building within me, one surrendered moment at a time.

Maybe that’s why certain symbols stir our spirits:
They remind us of truths our souls already know.

A key isn’t magic.
But it is a reminder.

A reminder that Home isn’t where we’ve been… or where we hope to go…
but Who goes with us.

A reminder that no matter how far we wander, the Spirit leads us right back to peace.
A reminder that in every season — lost, found, wandering, returning —
we are held.
We are guided.
We are never alone.

Home is not a destination.
Home is His presence.
And that presence is already inside you.

Where He is, you belong.
Where He walks, you follow.
Where He dwells, you rest.

And wherever you go,
you take Home with you.