Who Do You Think I Am? - Our Habitation

Be thou my strong habitation, whereunto I may continually resort: thou hast given commandment to save me; for thou art my rock and my fortress. - Psalm 71:3

While we haven't yet discussed the term "habitation," we have looked at its meaning through several of the other terms we've studied thus far.  The word "habitation" refers to a dwelling place, a refuge, a safe place, or a place in which we can abide.  God is that place.  In Him, we are protected from harm, but more than that, we can be ourselves and be at rest.  In Him, we are free to be comfortable and at peace.  In fact, He longs for us to feel at home in His presence.

As if all of that weren't awesome enough, look at the descriptive phrase that follows the word "habitation" in the verse above—whereunto I may continually resort.  The word "resort" means "to enter into," and I think we all know what "continually" means.  God is not just a place we can sometimes go.  He's not just a refuge in the storm or a habitation during the good times.  He is always available to us.  We may enter into His presence continually.  As often as we'd like.  As many times as we need.  He will never turn us away.  Never will He give us a dismissive wave of His hand.  On the contrary, every time we are welcomed with open arms and a loving smile.  He never grows weary of our company or wishes we would go away.

As I think on this, I'm reminded of the events that took place moments after my return from my prayer walk this morning.  I slipped out while Barnabas was eating his breakfast, so the leaving was fairly simple.  However, I didn't make it back until after Jason had left for work, which meant poor Barnabas had been alone for about thirty minutes.  He doesn't like to be alone.

Anyway, I opened the door and found an empty house.  Within seconds, fifty-five pounds of black dog came tearing through the doggie door and hurried to my side.  I led him to the couch and sat down.  Suddenly, all I could see was dog.  Evidently, he missed me enough that sitting next to me was not sufficient.  He had to sit in my lap.  For the next several minutes, we sat on the couch together—his massive body curled up in my lap, eating up whatever attention I gave him.  And while I felt my legs might break under the weight, I felt happy and loved and appreciated.  Whether I'm gone five minutes or five hours, the welcome is generally the same.

I imagine that's how it is with God.  Whether we last spoke to Him an hour ago or a week ago, He can't wait to hear from us again.  No matter the last time we were in His presence, He longs to see us again.  And every time we go to Him, He welcomes us with that love and affection that makes us feel happy, loved and appreciated, even though we're not worthy of any of that.

What a privilege to know God is always available to us, and we can abide in His presence continually.  We never have to leave, and if we do, it's our choice.  But know this, we are always allowed to return.  God is our habitation, and He wants all of His children to come home.