Who Says You Can't Go Home?

For a long time now I have been interested in the idea of what makes a house a home. I think it comes from the fact that once my Dad joined the military we moved every few years. Even since my sister and I moved out my parents have moved more times than they did when we were in tow. The houses and apartments that we have lived in have been varied. But they have always felt like home.

I know a lot of people who lived in one home all of their lives, whose parents still live in those homes that they get to go home and visit. Whenever we watch Josh's home videos or talk about life when he was growing up it all revolves around a white two-story farmhouse, the same house his parents live in now. A house that has been a part of my own life and my own memories for twelve years now, a place that I love to be.

But there is no one house that is home for me. I remember home differently. When I think of our house in Goose Creek I think of Christmas. Our most magical Christmases were in that house, when the magic of Santa was still alive. When I think of our house in Chesapeake I think of the back yard. Katie and I spent hours out there climbing trees and building forts and jumping on the trampoline. When I think of our apartment in Okinawa I think of our family playing Nintendo 64 together - where we had to sit within a few feet of the TV so the cord could reach. I think of my Dad waking me up in the middle of the night because my hamster Sophie was out running through the house again. When I think of our house in Suffolk I remember Mom working out in the yard and Dad grilling out on the deck. I remember for the first time we had four cars in the driveway. My parents have had several houses in several states since that time that I never lived in, only visited. But to me that is the interesting part. It has always felt like coming home.

I guess to me home is not about the location anymore. For me home is my Dad eating popcorn and drinking Pepsi while he watches TV in the evenings. For me home is my Mom playing the piano. My favorites are when she plays for fun, not to rehearse for church. She'll pull out classical pieces or Broadway hits and the whole house will be full of it. For me home is Katie. I've thought about it time and time again, and it isn't Katie doing any particular thing. It's just wherever Katie is, because she has always been there with me and for me.


You have two homes when you grow up and start your own family. You have the new home that you build with your spouse and later your children. But you always have the home where your memories are anchored, where you grew up and became you. Josh and I work very hard to create a  home for one another and especially for our two boys. A place where we can rest, relax, laugh, love. A place where we can be ourselves. I think I can honestly say that at this point this house in Springfield has become our home.

 

I'm not sure when it happened, exactly. Was it when we got all of our things here? Was it when we finally got them unpacked? Was it experiencing sickness and hurt in this home? Was it having our family visit and getting to show it all to them? Was it having people over and sharing laughter and fellowship in these walls? I'm not sure. I think it all plays a part. Slowly, in the day in and day out, there is an unfolding of who we are into this place. The making of memories. The making of a home.

 

God's timing is always perfect. I have seen that particularly in the last few weeks. You see, while life has continued in a routine way out here in Illinois things have changed greatly back in North Carolina. My Mom and Dad, for what is hopefully the last time, packed up their home and moved from Camp Lejeune to their cabin in the woods, the retirement home that they have dreamed of. It's hard to comprehend from this far. My parents lived at Camp Lejeune for three and a half years - which is the longest they have lived in one place for quite some time. Katie and her family ended up being stationed there and we were blessed to live just a few hours away so we were able to visit them quite often. We made wonderful memories at Camp Lejeune, holidays and birthdays and promotions and just because we can be together memories. That is the only house my boys remember when they think of their time with Papa and Gammy. To realize that that chapter of our lives ended without our being there can be hard. To realize that they live in a place we have never been in a home we have never seen is hard. It was as I watched those roots being dug up that I realized that we had in fact planted roots here. Home here keeps me anchored while my other home changes.

 

 

I do not know when we will have the opportunity to go and see my parents' new house. I'm excited to see it, the beautiful reality of a dream they have chased for quite some time. I'm excited to see who they are in it as they settle into a new chapter of their life after retirement. I am grateful, though, that God has shown himself faithful to us yet again. He has shown me that we are home. And He has reminded me that even though it may look different than it did, even though we can't go back to what it was, home will still be there when we go to visit.