Home..what is home? Is it a building with with four walls? Is it a city or town, where we reside, or perhaps have resided in our past? I venture to guess, the word “home” means different things for different people.
For me, “home” has always been a feeling. A feeling of belonging, of community, and fellowship; good, bad, or indifferent.
I contribute my feeling of home, to my upbringing in a small community.
I have found, over the last several years, I long for that sense of “home.” That feeling of a Friday night football game, with the whole town running up and down the sideline supporting their team, the restaurant where you walk in and you are kindly greeted by someone who actually knows who you are. The knowing and caring of your neighbors. A day of hard work well rewarded.
It’s ironic, for many years, all I wanted was autonomy. I found myself fighting the very core of my upbringing. I refused to go back to my hometown, for many years, for varying reasons. But, as we have gone through, notably, the craziest year in most of our lives, I have found the need to go “home.” To drive by the homes of my childhood, to feel the feels of times and moments gone by. To see the porch, where Santa left my first red bike, to see the window of my bedroom that housed a beautiful canopy bed, that I no doubt didn’t value and appreciate then, as I do now. To remember the yard with a beautiful, bountiful garden; to look at the place where we all came together to make the ugliest Homecoming float, ever. To see where my sense of safety came from, in what sometimes felt like a scary, lonely, chaotic world. I long to surround myself with the feelings of what make-up home to me; to wrap myself up in a “big hug” of home.
I encourage each of you to feel your "home," and then take time to wrap yourself in your big hug of it.
Wishing you the biggest hug of home..until the next time.
The Girl in the Red Bug
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