Over the past few years (that have truly dwindled down to months, weeks and days) “home” has become a day dream word. Something unattainable and not at all tangible. A word that I have almost grown resentful of at times.
Don’t get me wrong, we’ve been blessed with a roof over our heads, beds to sleep in and tables to eat at. But that feeling of contentment, security and warmth has mostly evaded me. Okay, completely evaded me.
I’ve chalked it up to all the upheaval and many personal losses that have taken their toll on my life. I used to tell myself that maybe it was just time I grew up and gave up the fantasy.
As it would turn out, a recent move across the state became very necessary. Suddenly, the word “home” took on a completely new meaning. The endless packing and discarding and discovering. It was emotionally exhausting as well as physically exhausting and all in pursuit of something that we could call “home.” Major resentment all over again…
By nothing short of grace, it suddenly clicked though. In the midst of putting together beds and cleaning off shelves, I found my home and it wasn’t in a building. It was (and always has been) in my heart. Ridiculous as that sounds, that’s where “home” really waits for us all. It will always be there… sometimes we are just to numb and broken to feel it.
I want to record this moment and my discovery, in case I forget it while going down one of life’s many arduous paths again…
Note to self: “home” is something we all carry inside of us. We help it evolve for the sake of those we love. When our hearts are whole this “place” becomes beautiful, wild and full of possibilities. When we are broken, it can become dark, scary and a lonely space.