I’m home.

Where the heck is home?

What is home?

Just by typing “I’m home,” has set my mind into a mini-frenzy. Lately I’ve been consumed by where home is. In the past year I’ve spent only 4.5 months in NM, 2.5 in Iraq, and 5 in CA. Does where you spend the most amount of time constitute where home is?

New Mexico is, and I think will forever be, home-base. This is where my roots are (maybe?). I can’t even say my parents live here anymore. My dad moved to CA and I’m pretty sure my mom will follow suite soon. Is home where your parents live?

People say home is where the heart is, but I’ve left parts of my heart in Guatemala, in Iraq, in California and New Mexico. I would say screw ‘home is where the heart is,’ but while little pieces of my heart are all around, my whole heart belongs to God and that truly is home.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros say,

Let me come Home
Home is wherever I’m with you.”

So while I’m freaking out that I don’t quite feel at home right now, I think it’s God telling me that I’m not of this world. Carrie Underwood was right, this is my ‘temporary home.’ I shouldn’t ever feel comfortable where I am. I should be ready to pack up and leave anytime, to wherever He calls me to.

So while I still might be freaking out that I don’t know where my next place of living will be, I should be calm that He’s reminding me that home is whenever I’m with Him.

Thanks for reading this ramble. It’s been a quite calming and necessary freak out.


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