Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Home

Home.

The word stirs up so many memories and emotions.

It was my childhood in a quiet cul-de-sac. A dollhouse in the basement, a place for kickball games on the street, a room which held hopes and dreams and dozens of journals over a decade. It was my mom sacrificing so much to keep the house, when my dad walked out, to keep the thing that provided us stability and security. It was also this summer, as my children rode big wheels on the same pavement where I once rollerbladed for hours with my friends.

It was the four year temporary residence of Walther Second South, with its mint green rooms and bathrooms for four girls to share daily. It was late night conversations in hallways lined with painted trees while Sara Groves CDs played in the background. It was dialing FIXR and yelling, "Man in the floor!" and walking back from the caf with ice cream cones.

It was an apartment in the desert, to live in all by myself. Single for the first eighteen months and newly married for the last six. It never really felt like home while I was there, but once we moved away I missed the frequent trips for burritos and the free cable.

And for almost twelve years it was the small house on the north side of town. It was learning how to be married and how to fight fair. It was setting the security alarm every night. The dogs we owned ran freely in the fenced in backyard. It was the place to which I brought home my babies, and also the place where I did not come home with a baby. It was never enough closet space but always enough bathrooms to clean, and it was a place of reconciliation and disappointment and hope and frustration.

Now we are in a temporary place - not quite what we thought for many reasons. It is more  space than any family needs. There are pleasant fields with cows nearby that I love to watch, but the bathrooms are cold and the cleaning never seems to end. I don't feel settled here because that was never the purpose of this location for us.

In a few weeks we will be gone and starting somewhere new. Though we know where we are going, we don't have an exact address or date yet. So here I am, the one who craves stability and security, and I am having to rest on the hope that we will get there when we get there, that home is where the heart is, and a few other cliches, too. I do not do well with resting or cliches.

I am wanting to stay in the familiar, among the friends who have seen me ugly cry in small group settings, who witnessed and affirmed C's baptism, who know what G needs in VBS each summer. and yet I am longing to leave - to say the goodbyes as if ripping off that painful bandaid, and to begin a new life in a new place in a new home.

So that is my word. Home.

Perhaps in 2017 I will better understand what it means to me.

1 comment:

  1. As always, I love your writing and so appreciate your willingness to be real. Thank you for sharing.
    - Bettyann

    ReplyDelete

Thanks for stopping by and sharing your thoughts with me.