“Where is home when your mother’s tongue is not your mother tongue?” Veronica Zundel’s opening line compels us to read on – and I hope you will, for her thoughts on finding home as the child of immigrants will move you. She speaks of loss and yet an undergirding hope.
Where is home when your mother’s tongue is not your mother tongue? Let me explain. My Jewish mother and Gentile father left Vienna in 1939 for the UK. Their marriage in London was followed by 14 house moves (well, 14 single room moves) in a few years. Finally they settled in Coventry, where I, their second child, was born. When I was five and my doctor Dad had earned enough (Mum was unable to finish her medical studies), they bought land and had a modern house built, with a large garden including an apple orchard, where I would later pick and eat unripe cooking apples, to the detriment of my digestion!
My mother never saw her own mother again – she perished, along with Mum’s aunt and uncle, in a concentration camp. Five of my potential six grandparents (my mother was adopted), died before I was born. The sixth, my father’s mother, along with his brother and sister, lived in Vienna, so I saw them at best annually. Neither of Dad’s siblings had children (though I later learned of my rakish uncle’s secret illegitimate daughter), so my brother and I were the only ‘next generation’. There were plenty of honorary aunts, uncles and even cousins of a sort, but no extended family. We had enough money, but this was a form of poverty not often recognized.
Meanwhile the family home held a different culture from that of school or playmates; a little enclave of Austria where they spoke a strange hybrid language laughingly called ‘Emigranto’ or ‘Refugäsisch’, where they ate different foods and even held cutlery differently, where everyone spoke at once and I couldn’t get a word in. Better to retreat to my bedroom with a book and explore other worlds, as well as playing with my imaginary English family with five children (including, as in all the best fictional families, twins).
When I was 13 and he 18, my brother became mentally ill, and was in and out of hospital until he killed himself in 1975 at 27. In the light of all this, it is unsurprising that I found ‘home’ in places rather than people. At 16 I found a new home in Jesus; and about a year later I discovered what would be my first ‘spiritual home’, at a Lutheran community/conference centre I visited regularly and later lived and worked at for six intense months. Yet a few years on, this ‘home’ would be lost, sold by the Lutherans and its community scattered. By then, I had my own flat in London, home of a sort but often lonely.
Fast forward a dozen or so years to my marriage in 1989, and my parents’ decision to ‘retire to London’ to be nearer us. This was fine, except that I soon learned that the couple (a Jewish doctor and his convert wife) who bought their house, had demolished my bedroom to build an octagonal excrescence containing a new master bedroom and a kosher double kitchen. (All that observance didn’t do the wife much good, she later ran off with her personal trainer!) They also felled the silver birch tree outside my garden window, and losing the other window that allowed me to climb surreptitiously onto the garage roof. All my childhood, gone at a stroke.
Happily Ed and I had found a new, wonderful spiritual home in the Mennonite church. After a lifetime of taking photographs only of places, I started to take photographs of people, and to find Christ in them, where I had previously found him only in solitude and natural beauty. Could home, once more, be a community? But now that home, after more than two decades, is lost too, with the closure of what was the only English-speaking, non-conservative Mennonite church in the UK.
What is left? I have a caring, loyal husband and a delightful son who just turned 22, and we have lived in the same house for 27 years – so is this home? Coventry, which I still visit, still feels like home in a deeper way; and Vienna, which I have known since I was four, another kind of home, yet not home. Perhaps home is always elusive, a state to which we aspire. As Jesus followers we are ‘resident aliens’, citizens of another kingdom, longing for a city which is to come. Only there will we be truly at home.
Veronica Zundel is the author of nine books including three anthologies for Lion Publishing, and three books for BRF, of which the latest is Everything I Know about God, I’ve Learned From being a Parent (BRF 2013). She writes regularly for BRF’s New Daylight notes, and a column for Woman Alive magazine, which won a national award, beating columnists from the Mail on Sunday into second and third places. She is is a prize-winning poet who blogs at reversedstandard.com and on the ACW blog, More than Writers.
A British embassy overseas gives visitors a tiny taste of Britain – everything is quintessentially British. Sometimes that means cocktails on a perfect lawn or tea and cucumber sandwiches. But in many parts of the world the embassy is a refuge; a place of peace and sanctuary for Britons stranded in foreign lands.
But the table could be anywhere. What makes it home is the people seated round it. Home has been a caravan in a field; a picnic table in a forest. I could adapt that Marvin Gaye lyric (later recorded by Paul Young) – ‘Wherever I lay a table, that’s my home’.
When Jesus said, ‘I go to prepare a place for you’ he was talking about our heavenly home, our safe haven, where we will be fully known and fully accepted just as we are. In heaven, with Jesus, we will never feel like the outsider or the unnecessary extra. Each of us will know he has included us on purpose, not by accident. When we take our place in heaven it won’t be like one of those parties where you wander into the crowded room and wonder who to talk to or where to sit. Jesus is waiting to welcome the citizens of his heavenly kingdom, not formally, but as family. There won’t be an embarrassed shuffling of seats to squeeze you in. He has already prepared a place just for you.
Catherine Butcher is HOPE’s Communications Director, author of several books and co-author with Mark Greene of The Servant King and the King She Serves, published by HOPE, Bible Society and LICC as a tribute to the Queen on her 90th birthday. Her book What you always wanted to know about heaven – but were afraid to ask (CWR, 2007) is now out of print but is still available from Catherine. Find her on Facebook or email 
Alex Ward is a Scot currently living in Flower Mound, Texas, with her husband and two sons, both born in The Netherlands. She has recently completed a Masters in Gerontology (distance learning with Southampton University) and is contemplating how to make use of it now her boys’ days are filled with their own activities. She likes a good cup, or glass, of tea.
To prevent the children from exploding with excitement while they waited, we got into the habit of giving each of them a stocking full of small goodies to be opened in our bedroom at some unearthly hour on Christmas morning. (Eventually we trained them to bring us a cup of tea first.) Then one year, they bounced in not only with their own stockings, but with an extra one they’d made especially for us, complete with chocolates and the present shown on the left. It’s one of my most precious Christmas memories; not just because of the gift, but because of the love (and the plotting and planning) that went into it.
Fiona Lloyd lives in Leeds with her husband, where she pretends not to mind that her three children have grown up and are moving on. She spends her working days teaching violin in local schools, and her spare time doing as much writing as she can get away with. She worships at her local Baptist church, and is a member of the worship-leading team. Fiona blogs at 
Much like what healthy family should always be. And I’m fortunate to have experienced this in my life in so many beautiful ways.
James Prescott is a writer, editor, blogger & author from Sutton, near London. He is author of two e-books, Dance Of The Writer and Unlocking Creativity and hosts a weekly podcast ‘James Talks’. His first print book Mosaic Of Grace: Gods’ Beautiful Reshaping Of Our Broken Lives releases later this year. Find his work at 
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