It has been nearly 3 months since we moved. In that time we have spent nearly as much time at our new “home” as we have away from home. I did the math one day while Mr. M was in New York last month. Since we had moved he has been at our home 25 nights and over 30 nights some where else. We were gone so often we started just telling people we’ve lived here one month. August hasn’t been as crazy and we’ve been here a lot more but it still left me feeling homeless. I felt like I didn’t know where I belonged. I had a home, but there wasn’t much ‘homey’ about it. I did (and still do) refer to where we lived as home. Every time we are there I feel home.
We are beginning to love living here more and more. We try and get out as much as possible to see and get to know where we live. We went for a little hike last week and found a tarantula. Who knew tarantulas lived here? We’ve gone swimming a few times, done a few bike rides, and went to a race at the Raceway. I’ve gone to our local farmer’s market, we go for walks, we go running in the park, we are getting involved in our church, and made a list of places and things we want to do before our little guy arrives. We’ve made photo collages, bought mirrors and shower curtains, we have tried to fill this space we call home. More and more I am finding a spot in my heart for this city. It has been a 3 month journey, but I’m finding home again.
This feeling of homelessness made me wonder what makes a home? Why do I feel so blessed to be physically protected and cared for but still don’t feel home. I’ve studied principles of Interior Design, I know structurally what makes a home, but how can someone have a home and still feel homeless? How can you have a roof over your head, a bed, food, and everything you need but still feel that hole?
As I sat in New York last month and felt even more of that distance, I wrote the following in my journal after Mr M and I went to the Manhattan Temple.
I feel like as a society we are lead to believe that “home” is something that can be built or bought. I live for the day I’m not paying rent and own a home. I dream about painting walls and remodeling projects, but those don’t create home either. I believe that home is an inner peace. A peace that can be found in a variety or buildings, but is a peace that is woven through time and righteous decisions.
So my bare walls are becoming less bare. Remember what our place looked like when we moved in? But it isn’t pictures on a wall, pillows on a bed, or food in the cupboards that make a home. It is that feeling of peace and serenity that come from centering our lives around Jesus Christ. It isn’t about having a house that is Pinterest worthy. It’s not about Victorian Architecture or designer sofas. Those things fill space but they do not fill voids. The mirror above my fireplace didn’t make my home more peaceful or serene. It is the effort that we have put into centering our home and our lives on the gospel of Jesus Christ. I loved this final idea by Richard G. Scott.