Monday, July 11, 2011

Home





Home is such an interesting concept.

It’s one of those concepts that begin clear as day, then get quite muddled, and then, presumably, back to "clear as day."

I find myself asking myself basically this simple question, “Am I home?”

Your childhood home is your “clear as day” home.

It’s the one you don’t even realize doesn’t keep up with the Joneses. It’s the one you don’t even question. It’s yours. Inherently. Absolutley. Indisputably.

When you have a rough day, you walk through the doorframe and you are instantly at peace. As you sink further and further into the cushions the day begins to completely shed its hold on you. Until eventually, with your mother’s hug, it’s gone.

After you spread your wings and leave, usually your childhood home is still the one you refer to as home. You tell your girlfriends you are headed “home” after the soccer game and head to your dorm, but you don’t mean you are going Home.

Home becomes something you visit at Thanksgiving or Christmas, or for a wedding or another special occasion.

You feel comfortable where you are, but you feel the world’s sting linger long after you walk through the doorframe and even after hours of sitting on your donated free couch that you still don’t really claim as yours. Everything within your walls you put into the classification of: temporary.

Even the ground that your walls rest upon. This city, these restaurants, this job.

People say that “home” becomes no longer a place.

That it becomes a wildly exciting mixture of yourself and others that you love dearly.


I can’t say that my roots are set quite yet. But I know that they stretch deep into my marriage and my son. As the years go by and those roots take deeper hold onto my heart and my being I am sure to find that entering a doorframe and seeing my “temporary furniture” will more and more relax me and bring me peace.

I was worried when we moved from our townhouse to our new house that Braylon, my son, would struggle to sleep having moved. He didn’t even flinch.

Maybe he has this whole “home” thing down better than I do.

He knows that “home” is Mom & Dad (& Moose & Maverick (our cats)).

He doesn’t see our furniture as temporary or foreign.

We are his “clear as day” home.

But all the houses and homes on Earth will always be temporary and foreign.

Maybe I don’t feel so “at home” anymore because I am really not at home.

Maybe I feel like I don’t belong here because no one belongs here.

2 Corinthians 5:8
Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord.

And maybe, I am supposed to see all my furniture as temporary because I am accumulating other furniture.

Matthew 6:20.
But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.

Adieu.

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