when where I live becomes the place I call home

Think of a time that you moved… what did you do that made your house your home?

Today this was the question in class.

And I was challenged.

I was ‘home’ with my parents this summer, but I didn’t decorate my room (or at least not within the last 8 years).

I felt at home while living with friends in the spring, but I didn’t even unpack my bags.

I spent months in Mexico without hanging pictures of friends or family, but each summer I was without a doubt at ‘home.’

But then I realized.

Even before I arrived in NC, I called my friends from Waco who had also recently moved to the area. This summer I lived with my family, and in the spring it only took a few days with friends to feel like home. Months in Mexico were spent in close proximity to children that stole my heart and parents I claim as my own.

I value relationships immensely. People matter to me more than I knew.

My house isn’t my home because of what’s inside but because of who is. Its where my closest relationships take place.

Sometimes that also happens to be my house, but as relationships grow I find myself calling entire cities home to encompass all the people dear to me.  As relationships develop and deepen where I live turns into the place I call home. An address expands to include a city which grows to the whole state and has also included an entire country at times. [oh the challenge of expressing where ‘home’ is!]

In reflection of all of these and the meaning they each hold, I can’t help but imagine the utter PERFECTION of my ultimate home in heaven. The mere difference between space and place is the presence of meaning.

In perfect relationship with He who is most meaningful to me, what a beautiful place it shall be.  

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