Most of you don't know, or perhaps don't remember, but during the spring of 2013, my sophomore year in high school, my house burned down. Completely.

I remember I was at a hotel with my family to celebrate my youngest sister's birthday when my parents received a call in the night, and it was our neighbor informing them that the house was on fire. My parents then rushed to the scene, but I stayed behind to watch my three little sisters.

I remember my dad calling to tell me how bad the situation was. I quickly realized that I didn't have a home to go to, and the thought was so overwhelming that I felt nothing but detached.

I didn't cry over the beanie baby that I had since I was a baby, my birth pillow or the pictures of me and my family. I didn't cry about anything.

The first way that my house burning down impacted me--and still impacts me today-- is my struggle to find sentiment in anything. I throw things away easily out of fear that they might mean too much in the future. From movie tickets from a first date to my favorite old pair of rainbow running shoes that I had when I first came to college, I just... throw it away.

The second way that my house burning down has impacted me is that I prefer not to take pictures. I'm getting better about this one, mainly because everyone around me loves pictures. But the anxiety of taking them and them disappearing off a flash drive or just disappearing period makes me uncomfortable with taking photos.

I'd rather just remember the memories and recall them in my mind instead of worrying about a piece of paper, phone or flash drive that is easily destructible.

Third: Nowhere and everywhere is home. I consider this a good thing for the most part. I do my best to make things feel like home, and I can adjust well to different living conditions.

However, when I find myself with too much furniture, it feels too settled, and I end up trying to sell it all before it becomes too cozy. I daydream about my future, about being in camper and just traveling all of the time. I have a difficult time wanting to belong anywhere because I know nowhere is permanent, anyway.

The best way I think that my house burning down has impacted me is that three years later, when I decided to become a Christian, finding my stability in a location rather than Christ has never been an issue with me.

I consider myself always home because Christ is with me, and never home because nothing is permanent, and home is in heaven. Of course, like most Christians, I struggle with placing my comfort in things, and just because I don't try to find stability in a house, doesn't mean I don't try to find stability in other worldly ways.

Now, most of this sounds really sad. But I promise, I'm not sad all of the time, or at least not about my house burning down.

Only when I consciously decide to reflect on the situation do I see how it impacts my life. I mostly live in the moment without concern if my favorite stuffed animal and bear blanket will go away. I appreciate that I have it in that moment.

I have no fear of losing valuables because yes, the world and disasters have made me lose hope in my valuables.

But what can never be burned is my hope in the eternal, everlasting Christ.