There’s something strange in the transition of returning home from extended time away. I’ve been visiting family in Texas for 12 days and just got back home yesterday. There’s a lot of my history in Texas and being back and surrounded by those that I only get to see a few times a year is an emotional time for me. Trips there are filled with memories – childhood scenes and times long past bubble to the surface of my mind again and each visit adds to the storehouse of memories I take back with me. Then suddenly I’m back home and although I live here nearly 50 weeks of the year, it all seems strange again, the house is quiet, I’m thinking about returning to work, and wondering if the trip even happened.
It’s times like these that I reflect on the meaning of “home”. I’m technically home now because I’m in my home of residence and easing back into the routine of things that gives meaning and structure to my days. But it some ways I feel like I’m not home because I’ve just said goodbye to people I love who claim a part of my heart. To have one’s heart fractured among several states and lots of people is a common occurrence now and one that most families deal with. We learn to cherish times when we’re all together and keep those memories close when we can’t be there in person. The concept of “home” starts to mean many different things – it’s where I live, it’s where my brother and his family live, it’s where I spent my childhood, it’s my beloved Denver – many places and times comprise “home”. I’ve started thinking that heaven will feel like a heart made whole, like all the people and places I’ve loved will coalesce finally into one glorious, complete place in the presence of God. As we wait for that, it’s a special joy to spend time with those we love, treasuring their presence and place in our lives regardless of where we live.
Blessings to you,