What is Home?
Recently my family had back-to-back trips that took us on 3 plane rides, 2 long car trips, and 8 out of 10 straight nights sleeping on borrowed beds.
Family and work took us to the Big Apple, Naptown, and Music City in less than two weeks times and left us pretty exhausted by the end of it.
Just as we were nearing the end of our travels, my 2-year-old son walked up to me one afternoon in our hotel room, pulled on my pant leg to get my attention, and uttered a word we’ve never heard him say before.
“Daddy”
“Yeah little dude?”
“Home.”
“What did you say?”
“Daddy, home. Home.”
“You want to go home?”
“Yesh.”
My son missed home. And as he said that word for the first time, with a little whimper, he gave me a hug. It kind of broke my heart into 3000 little pieces.
Now I don’t know what my son considers home within his toddler brain. He’s lived in 3 countries, 7 houses / apartments, and has had a suitcase for a dresser for the majority of his life. His life has been one of (unintended) transition.
I’m not sure how he would define the word “home”, but I know that I agree with him.
I miss home too.
I miss:
Unpacked suitcases
Neighbors that we know well
Meals around our own dinner table with friends and family
Cooking food with my wife and son
Our own space to unwind, take responsibility for, and be okay with it being a little messy
Our own paintings on the walls
Neighborhood walks to get bangers & mash / shawarmas / jolof rice.
The world’s best bathroom mat from Ikea (no joke, we took this one to West Africa with us)
Don’t get me wrong, we’ve been the recipients of God-sized hospitality by our families, friends, and colleagues around the world. And we’ve had moments where places have almost become home over the last 2 years - but they haven’t lasted nearly long enough.
Home is where you can be fully yourself with those you love, dressed in your comfiest clothes, and not have to worry about being a host or hosted.
In the days since my son learned how to put these four little letters together into such a weighty term, I’ve been left reminded of how blessed I’ve been to know a place called home in various places and times throughout my life. More than most humans, I’ve known the depths and beauties of having a home - a real, true, home.
One that chooses love before judgment. Authenticity before show. Ice cream before broccoli. Late night escapades before quality sleep. Where acceptance, truth, and grace win the day over rejection, deceit, and injustice.
And because I’ve been blessed with so much home, I truly miss it right now.
But I’m also reminded that home is very often not just a place that “happens” to us - it is not just an action that is enacted upon us. We are participants in it as well. We join in on the love, openness, sugar rushes, and deep conversations.
Home doesn’t just happen.
It is built.
And I can’t wait to build it again in this next chapter of our lives.
What is home?
It’s a lot of things. And it’s different for each of us.
But it seems to usually be a lot of different things wrapped up in love with others.
What is home?
I think it’s built. By you. And me. And it’s always being built.
