Home.

It’s a simple word for a strange concept, really.

At the beginning of May, Travis and I went home for a surprise visit for Mother’s Day weekend and my sister’s first school play. Literally a handful of people knew, (whether intentionally or by accident) just enough to make the suspense real.

The weeks leading up to the surprise visit were full of excitement/anticipation. Never in my life have I been homesick, but I was. Just a little bit. I longed to see the cornfield horizon, squeeze my baby sister until she squirmed away… I left the 2-state gap and wanted to go back. So when Sarah told me what dates her school play fell on, we made it work. By some miracle, it all worked out perfectly and we left as soon as we were both able.

However, once we arrived, the strangest thing happened:

The night we got to my brother’s apartment (the same one we were in a few months ago), it was a party. The three of us were up late catching up and having a good time, then Travis and I slept in our old bed while my Zachary graciously took the couch. But although that home had been mine, the surroundings seemed unfamiliar.

The following morning we walked into my parent’s house unannounced, looking forward to reveling in the excited “Selah!" and "Travis!'s" and “you’re such a jerk!” hugs. I wasn't disappointed with the screaming little ones running and jumping with excitement, making me laugh more than I'd thought I would.

Later that day, I drove down a road taken 100 times (literally. Probably more.)
Yet.. it didn’t feel the same. I looked far down the road and saw several miles of flat corn rows and tree windbreaks and realized it didn’t feel right.
It wasn’t “home” anymore.

After that moment, the weekend seemed to fly by. We stayed with my best friend and her husband, saw a lot of family and few friends, caught up. Travis played volleyball, I talked with the ladies. Then it was over.

On the road.

Back from the flat.

Into the hills.

The mountains.

Away from before.

Into now.

Once we got back to our little camper, in our new little life, I wasn’t afraid anymore. I wasn’t torn.

I was home.

If home is where the heart is, I’m where I need to be.

I’m on an adventure with the man that holds my heart, guided by the One that holds us both.

Home isn’t about where you are from, who you are with, or even where you’re going. Home is where you are called to be, right here, right now.

Yes, I’m still an Indiana girl. But with a Tennessee soul. No matter what happens here, I now am confident this is where we belong.

(Until God moves us again….)

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