I’m fascinated by the idea of HOME. After moving more times than my age, I’m searching for its meaning and its location.
My parents are divorced with new spouses and new children. Growing up, we had an amicable arrangement of living with one and regularly visiting the other. From the start, I had 2 homes.
What is home? Some call it a place. At times, we’ve called it a feeling. Or is this just something we’ve said to ease the homesickness of living overseas, moving from one temporary apartment to another, every 12 months?
I’m reading a book about home. I’m taken aback by the obsession of it. Finding a place to be your true self…to be comforted…to feel truly safe. I don’t think I’ve had this for more than a few months in my adult life.
Haven’t we all? Its 2018. Our careers take us far from home. If not, then our schooling or wonderlust does.
What are we left with?
I type this sitting at a free desk, in a fixer upper my husband and I are neck-deep laboring over. Without realizing it, we, too are chasing this very obsession of HOME. We returned to our home country, with our young children, seeking roots. DEEP ROOTS.
A place where our far-flung friends and family can come. A place where we can drop all the barriers, stop planning the next move, and BE. A place we can depend on. A place where cheap furniture, travel treasures, fresh paint, old floors, and God’s creation can come together and foster community.
Community with God. Community with each other. Community within.
I’m at once afraid and relieved that we may be headed the right direction.