half way ‘home’

I would venture to say that most people think of “home” as the geographic place where they lay their head at night and find shelter with their own people.

But since we wandering souls often lack that geographic stability, I guess we more of less consider home as the places we most feel like we belong.

Home: (n), 1. a place where a person lives, or where a person is comfortable to be. 2. A base or place where you are stationed from where missions start and end. 3. A residential dwelling broader than a physical dwelling. 4. a place of refure and safety where worldly cares fade and where things and people one loves becoming the focus.

It doesn’t matter whether home is a ship in the middle of the sea, a mattress in the open desert an airport you’ve been through one too many times, or the and the princess and the pea bed in the family guest room.

I guess I’m thinking about home tonight because I find myself oddly at home while being between homes. Tonight I’m sleeping in Atlanta. The city has changed a lot since I packed up my Braves hat for Asia in 1997, but there is still a familiarity in being here. Perhaps I’m reminded of home, because I remember the strong ties of friendships felt here. Desoto homes, piedmont blading, law school musings, 7^th Street poetry, the big scary lot and crescent commuting. I still sometimes find home in the memories.

I guess it is also weird in a way because I left home today too. I emptied out the closet in my dad’s house in Tampa this morning. Although the sunshine state has always been a place for my temporary stopovers, somewhere in the mix of 2005 it became a home to me too. As I watched the bay fade into the distance behind me today I thought about my family here, my fun Tampa church, and all the friends and strangers who’ve supported me through my transitions and trauma months with hugs, kind words and smiles. Café con leches, bayshore miles, poolside airshows, and wireless unemployment.

Although it is sort of strange to both be home and leaving home, I guess that I’m actually on my way home too. This week I’m moving to Washington DC. For the next year I will make this place my home. I’ve just taken a job working for World Vision and will unpack my bags on 8^th street, a few blocks from the capitol. Although I’ve never lived in DC before, it seems like this is where I belong for this season. Although I haven’t really arrived yet, I’m anticipating the new home and the new family that awaits me there.

Perhaps finding home wherever we are is the key to the journey, because I guess the reality truly is that none of these places where we abide in this life are really our real home anyway. I guess it is all about finding comfort and relationship in the places where we are, remembering that we were made for something greater, and always remembering to look towards our eternal home sweet home.

“Where we love is home,
home that our feet may leave,
but not our hearts."

Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.