WHERE IS YOUR HOME?
I thought I was walking toward a dead man.
When I saw this man pushing everything he owned in that cart, a thought crossed my mind for just a moment — could I carry my own closet like that?
The answer was clearly no.
For a moment I wondered if I should offer him food or water, but then I realized someone nearby already knew him and had stepped in to help.
And it left me with a deeper question.
What can any of us truly give a man whose deepest need may only be met by Jesus?
Almost instinctively I found myself saying,
“Lord… how can I help him?”
And the answer that came back was simple:
Pray.
Dedication
To Jesus Christ — whose presence turns wandering souls into citizens of a Kingdom that cannot be shaken.
To my beautiful wife Marty — whose steady faith continues to remind me what a true home looks like.
To the afflicted and the homeless — especially those who are not there by choice, those who fight each day simply to survive, to find a meal, to search through a garbage can, to rest their heads somewhere safe. May God look upon them with mercy, compassion, and provision.
And to you, the reader — wherever life finds you today.
“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.” — Revelation 3:20 (NKJV)
A Word Before You Read
This isn’t about homelessness.
It’s about where a human soul actually lives.
Because every one of us is carrying something.
The Hook
A few days ago I thought I was walking toward a dead man.
It was late afternoon and traffic was heavy.
I had just picked up three of our Australian Shepherds from the groomer and was pulling into the busy street when I saw him.
A man was lying face down in the road next to a shopping cart filled with everything he owned.
My first thought wasn’t about the cart.
It was that someone was going to run him over.
In that traffic, a driver could easily assume he was already dead and drive right over him.
So I stopped the car.
I stepped out with my phone already in my hand, preparing to dial 911.
Before I could reach him, another man suddenly ran over — clearly someone who knew him — yelling and grabbing him, pulling him back to his feet.
The moment he stood up, I snapped this photo.
Not because I planned to.
But because the scene stopped me cold.
The Story
His cart was stacked high.
Blankets.
Pillows.
Bags.
Clothes.
Pieces of a life piled together and rolling down the sidewalk.
Everything he owned was right there.
His house.
His closet.
His storage.
His security.
All of it balanced on four small wheels.
As I stood there watching him gather himself, something pressed deeper into my heart.
I couldn’t imagine pushing that cart every day.
Yet this man — maybe a third my size — had figured out how to carry his entire world with him.
And suddenly I realized something.
I wasn’t just looking at a homeless man.
I was looking at a question.
The Moment (BAM)
And that’s when it hit me.
Everyone has a cart.
Some of ours just look nicer.
The Reflection
On the way home I had just paid to have my dogs bathed and cleaned.
They eat two good meals a day.
They sleep in safety.
They have good medical care.
They lay near our bed at night.
They are loved, protected, and cared for.
And I couldn’t help but think about the man I had just seen pushing his entire life down the sidewalk.
For a moment, the contrast hit me hard.
My dogs were probably living a safer life than that man was.
Sometimes this world can be a very harsh place.
Very unfair.
I don’t pretend to know what roads led that man to where he is today. Some stories are shaped by addiction. Some by mental illness. Some by tragedy. Some by decisions. Some by things we may never understand.
But I do know this.
Moments like that bring a deep sense of humility.
They remind me how much I have been given.
And how easy it is to forget that.
When I got home, I told Marty what had happened and showed her the photo.
She looked at it quietly and said she had seen the same man earlier that morning when she dropped the dogs off.
She said it had broken her heart then.
We looked at each other for a moment.
Neither of us said much.
But we could see the thoughts in each other’s eyes.
The weight of it.
The humanity of it.
And in that quiet moment, one word settled in my heart.
Where is my home?
Not my street address.
Not the place where my body sleeps.
But the place where my soul lives.
Because the truth is — none of us are here permanently.
This world is temporary.
We are all just passing through.
When Christ lives in you, something remarkable happens.
You may travel anywhere.
You may walk through trials.
You may lose things you once thought defined you.
But one thing never changes.
You are already home.
Walkaway Line
The man in the street pushed his home in a cart.
Most of us push ours in quieter ways.
And in the end, every soul arrives at the place it truly calls home.
Something to Think About
If everything you owned disappeared tomorrow —
where would your home be?
My Prayer
My Heavenly Father,
For those wandering through hardship, poverty, addiction, loneliness, or despair, we ask that Your mercy and provision reach them in ways only You can provide.
For those of us who have been given much, remind us to walk humbly and never forget how fragile life can be.
Anchor our hearts in You so that our true home is not built on temporary things but on the eternal presence of Christ within us.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
About G~
G~ writes from lived experience — exploring identity, authority, and time through the lens of faith, trial, leadership, and surrender.
His reflections are not meant to condemn or hype, but to steady.
Rooted in covenant, forged through adversity, and anchored under the authority of Jesus Christ, his work invites readers to examine who governs their lives — and to live intentionally under truth.
If what you’ve read resonates with your journey, feel free to reach out.
G~