Home

Written on 7th May, in a spontaneous writing workshop at Charney Manor, Oxfordshire, in which we were asked to write about ‘home’....

Home. I’m fortunate to have a home. Some people do not. In Croatia, when I was there in 1994 after the War, many were living in garden huts with all their belongings in a cardboard box. Their homes had been blown apart. Blown into heaps of rubble. Now, people in Gaza, Iraq, you name it, are homeless and we are helpless. In Bangladesh, during our visit to projects supported by Quaker Service Sweden, we were invited into people’s homes in the poorer parts of town. They had no polished wooden floors, wall-to-wall carpeting and all mod cons. Their floors were of stamped earth and their cons were very far from modern. Many cooked on an open wood fire in the middle of the room and crouched over their tasks. And yet, the welcome in these Croatian and Bangladeshi homes was warm, sincere, generous. Without expecting anything in return people gave of the little they had. Simple food and drink in abundance as though we were the prodigal children.

It was as though their homes – and the bodies that house their souls – were warm and loving. With few material goods to worry about they had both time and capacity for friendship and generosity. In many cases their families were large, extended and caring, each helping to provide for the pot. Strange. If someone gives without asking for anything in return I too feel more inclined to be open and generous.

Sometimes it takes a totally contrasting experience to make me realise what I have, want, need, do not have, do not want or do not need.

Perhaps home, then, is really the solid base, the secure ground and the loving space – within. Where the spirit dwells in peace and the Light readily turned on.