Home Sweet Home
Wednesday morning, a three-week-long trip to Ohio to visit my father’s family drew to a close. At the thought of leaving my childhood home to fly the 2,000+ miles to return to our home in Washington state, something in my heart just crumpled. I cried like nothing else. I just couldn’t imagine being away from that place. Ohio was my home. Only a few hours later, though, I was driving north on I-5 through Seattle with my family in our car, feeling ever so deliciously glad to be back home.
Which one is my true home? Ohio was, and in a way still is home, with family and memories. Yet Washington, too, is home, as well, with the roots that we have put down here. They say that home is where the heart is, but in that moment, I honestly could not have told you where my heart was.
As we were driving, I telephoned my father to let him know that we had arrived safely and to ask his opinion of my quandary. He mentioned that I’m just very adaptable, and I agreed, saying that wherever I am, I am with my whole heart.
After we hung up, I was still turning the idea over of where my true home was. What makes someplace home? Is it just where the heart is? Or, is it more empirical than that? Which counts more, where I was born, or where I live now? Then, suddenly, it hit me, and I couldn’t help but smile at the irony. It’s funny, but it’s neither Ohio, nor Washington.
I was born there, long, long ago (way longer than my 32 mortal years), and whenever I stop to think about it, my heart is really and truly there. Caught up in day-to-day living, though, it can be easy to forget. Our true home, you see, is nowhere on this earth.
While here, though, our truest home is the place (both on the planet and in our hearts) that brings us closest to that celestial abode.
It’s up to each of us to find the earthly home that will help us make it back to the home that counts. I can’t help but ask myself if that’s Ohio, or Washington, or somewhere else entirely…
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