In Others’ Words: Finding Home
I travel some — to writers conferences, mostly.
And I enjoy the chance to be with people who “get” me. People who can have entire conversations about imaginary people. Yeah, we do that.
But this is inevitable: Even as I pack my bags for the trip, anticipating the workshops and the almost nonstop conversations and the hugs and the late nights and early mornings and the God moments waiting for me wherever I’m going — I find myself missing home.
And I haven’t even left yet.
I love home.
No, I treasure home.
And when I finally get back home — walk in the door and release that little exhale that my heart’s been holding all the time I’ve been gone — I whisper, “I’m home.”
And it’s good.
Home is where I’m the most me. And home is also where my family knows they are welcome. All the time.
There are no locked doors, no “time’s up!” announcements for family. Home is home all the time … any time … forever and ever, amen. It’s memories and the promise of the future … and whatever you need right now this minute.
In Your Words: How would you finish this sentence: Home is_________________.
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