I’m writing this week’s column in my new home. My desk’s in a new room with a new view. Different, yet not so unfamiliar because abundant sunshine streams through the windows. I smile contentedly. This contentedness is wrapped up in joy. I’m a person of light. I need light like others need food and water. Light warms me from the inside out. Light makes me smile on a grumpy day. Light gives me hope when there is not one tiny droplet of hope to find in a never-ending desert. Light lifts my spirits and gives me courage. Light encourages me to take steps of faith I’d never take on my own. Light fills me with spillover joy.

Of course, I’m not writing about sunlight any more. I’m referring to the Light of the World, Jesus. My Redeemer and my Savior. My best friend. The true love of my life. He’s the one in the midst of chaos who brings peace. He’s the one who calms the storms we all encounter in this life. As change occurs all around us, he’s the one who is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. If he is with me, I am already home. If he is with me, there’s always abundant sunshine, even during the darkest days.

This new home is a place of light, of peace, and of love. I’m thankful for all three. I’m thankful that the Lord brought me here.

I hear Japanese beetles flying outside in cloud formation as they hold tiny pencils and tiny notepads, plotting ways to infiltrate the doors and the windows as soybeans are being harvested. They are mathematical wizards and very clever at finding ways to enter places they are not wanted.

I recognize their sound because I saw them earlier from the kitchen window. They were flying inside a cloud of their own making. In fact, there were so many of them, they themselves were the actual cloud. I never knew they made a sound until now. I suppose it’s the sound of all those tiny wings flapping. Inaudible with a few pairs of wings, an actual sound with so many.

Oh, I’ve encountered them before. But I’ve never seen them so close to the fields. They are a mighty force.

It’s harvest time and they know it. They don’t know it because one of them marked it down on a man-made calendar. They know it because they have a calendar God created as part of their very DNA. They are searching for a new home. There’s something in their makeup that requires them to find a home. We people are not so different. We want a place to land. We want a place where we belong. One that we can call home. A place where we can be ourselves and also feel loved.

Melvin and I got married Saturday with our loved ones as witnesses. We said our heartfelt vows before them, before one another, and before the Lord. Even though it rained a little in the morning, it was a day of abundant sunshine indoors.

It was one of those days I wish I could put inside a pickle jar. I’d use a hammer and a nail to poke holes through the lid for breathing purposes. Then I’d put this special jar on a shelf and take it out to look at whenever I wish. You see, both of us know what it’s like to have life change suddenly. We know how precious our time is with those we love. We know how precious our time together is here on earth.

As I looked around at our loved ones mingling, laughing, engaging in conversation, I was simply filled with spillover joy. I enjoyed watching our friends and family meeting one another. It was fun seeing connections between people as they realized they knew one another. It was fun introducing my mom to friends she’s heard of over the years, but never met.

I also had a sense of recognition. This must be a little preview of what Heaven must be like. Seeing our loved ones. Recognizing one another. Sharing in the joy. When Jesus talks about his bride, the church, he’s talking about believers. We are his bride.

“Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the lamb” (Revelation 19:9). The marriage supper of the Lamb is the unimaginable celebration of all who are in Christ. May we one day see each other there. Until then, find a home where Jesus is present and live in his abundant sunshine.

Kathy Yoder is a devotional writer. She may be reached at kathyyoder4@gmail.com.

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