Is it “home” yet?

Day 28

I, like most MKs, have lived a lot of places and have always had a hard time with the “where’s home?” question. Hey, forget “where’s home”. . . I have enough trouble with “what’s home”, as in what does the word even mean anymore?

So . . .

Katie’s Inexhaustive Dictionary of the English Language strikes again.

home (n.) – 1.) Heaven (the truest definition) 2.) the place where I am currently living  3.) a place (not so much these days) or a time (more likely) where I am content, comfortable, I love those around me, and I am loved by them in return (i.e. where I belong).

And an expansion:

Home is where I write when I send emails to my family. They all start with “Dear home . . . ” Home is an evening in a brown styrofoam and chicken-wire house on the edge of the Rift Valley, eating homemade baked ziti and having non-sequiter conversations. Home is a sun-splashed afternoon in Room 904 of Houghton Hall in downtown Chicago, reading O. Henry to my knitting friends. Home is surprising my siblings by coming back to PA for spring break the last time they were on furlough. Home is a Wednesday night after church, going to a coffee shop with friends, teasing and talking theology and figuring out wedding countdowns.

“I hold home inside, close to my heart, so it’s a place I can always be. And wherever I go, it’s a new start, with more home to add to me.” – a bit from my book that seemed fitting at this juncture.

Here on earth, that’s what home means to me.