Is my home in Kansas, or in Oz?

Dorothy said it herself, “There’s no place like home”. While I understand the idea behind that—that nothing feels quite as comforting as being home—I think she used the wrong words. You see, home is not about a place. Home is about where your heart is being pulled. If you recall, at the end of the movie The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy has a hard time saying goodbye to her new friends. I don’t know that I would have been surprised if she had made a last minute decision to stay in Oz, abandoning her goal of returning to Kansas. She had made bonds with her new group of misfit friends. She loved them. And it was that love that tied her to them; it was that love that made them a home. Maybe that famous line should have read, “There’s no feeling like home”.

Right now I am a bit of a nomad. When people ask me where I am from I never know quite how to answer. I grew up in one place, but then my dad lives in another. Then I went to school somewhere else. Now I live in a new place that’s not really all that new. I find myself using phrases like “I’m heading home to my mom’s” or “I am going home to my dad’s” or “I have to get back to my home in PA”. I have to clarify where I am going when I say the word home because it could mean so many different things. All of these places were home at one point, and most of them are still home, but not because of the locations. The other day I was back in Newark with a friend and I said, “It’s strange to be back in Newark because I think it should feel like being back home since it was my home for four years, but it doesn’t feel like that at all”. After I thought about that for a while, I realized it was because almost all of the people that had made Delaware feel like home aren’t there anymore. It was never about being at UD, it was always about the people that were at UD with me.

So what is home? You have a home with the people in your life that you love. It doesn’t matter where you are, but who you are with and the love that is between you. I am going to tell you a little bit about all of my different homes. And when I say a little, I mean I am about to tell you a TON.

My mom will always be a home for me. We’re a team, her and I. For so many years it was just us, walking through life together. Her being the wonderful, patient, graceful woman that she is and me being the goofy awkward kid that eventually became a moody teenager and somehow turned into the less awkward, less goofy, less moody person I am today. She let me rant for hours about my bad days while she quietly cooked dinner and put up with my constant failure to do any chores. She laughs with me and cries with me and when I call her just to say hi and we talk for all of 10 seconds, it’s never weird. Our house is not really my home anymore, but she is.

Then there’s my dad. My dad has never hung up the phone without telling me that he’ll always love me no matter what (except that one time, but then he called back just to say it). I remember nights where we would sit in front of the tiny tv eating soup and watching star wars. Then we would play basketball in with a nerf ball that definitely wasn’t a real basketball and a laundry basket on a pole that definitely wasn’t a real basketball hoop. None of the places he has ever lived has been home, but he has always been home. It was never about the place, but being with him is always like being home.

With my dad comes my step-family. Now I know what you are thinking. You have this image of a Cinderella-type arrangement. Dad, step-mom, 2 step-sisters, and then me living in the basement or something. Now, while I do have a step-mom and 2 step-sisters, and I did live in a basement at one point, the parallel to Cinderella stops there. I am blessed to have my step-mom and step-sisters and I am fully confident that wherever we end up in life, no matter what, I will always have a home with each of them. They are beautiful, passionate, creative, unique women that love life and live it to the full. I have laughed and cried with Becca and spent many nights hiding under blankets watching scary movies until we are both too freaked out to walk back up the stairs to our rooms (I wonder if she knows she is literally the only person that is capable of convincing me to watch scary movies). We are extremely different people and we can still end up rolling on the floor in laughter over meaningless silly things. On the other hand, Ellie and I so similar it’s scary. I don’t know if she’s ever noticed that, but it seriously freaks me out sometimes. We both love to laugh. We share a love of books and good food. We ask a lot of questions, so much so that sometimes it makes my dad and step-mom crazy. We don’t take ourselves too seriously and we laugh away our mistakes. We are goofy and silly and when I am with her I typically feel like I am 5 years old again. Then there is Joanne, the woman I am privileged to call my step-mom and friend. She has more joy and passion for life than anyone I have ever met. She is a miracle worker in the kitchen and has made some of the best food my mouth has ever tasted. She does everything with her entire heart and she loves me as if I was her own daughter. Every other Friday night, when I would visit my dad, I would get to the house and sit at the kitchen table while she put the finishing touches on dinner and we would talk. Sometimes it would be meaningless conversation and sometimes it would be a little deeper, but I looked forward to getting to the house just for those times (and for her mashed potatoes). We have grown to be good friends over these years and I treasure the times that we share meals or coffee or just a simple conversation across the counter in our kitchen. These three dynamic women give me a home because I truly love them and they truly love me.

Then there is the small group of friends that know me deeper than anyone else in this world. Naming them each and telling you how wonderful they are would take forever, so I’ll tell you about them collectively. Some of them are old friends, some are newer. They know me so deeply that I can’t hide anything from them. They know when I am lying about being fine and they aren’t afraid to call me out on it. They know my deepest struggles and failures and I have never felt more loved by them than in those moments of vulnerability where they loved me and cried with me and told me I wasn’t alone. I consistently let them down and they consistently love me. We’ve laughed together, cried together, been through heartbreaks and major life decisions, been sad together and been happy together. They are colorful and goofy and fun and beautiful. Our hearts have been bound together in deep friendship and each one of them shows me more and more of Christ the longer we live out this journey together. They are home.

Then there is my life where it is now. While all of these other people I am telling you about are still in my life, I don’t see any of them consistently anymore. They are still very much a part of my life, but I live away from them, in a house that isn’t mine with a family that isn’t mine in a town that isn’t mine. But somehow, though none of it is mine, it’s still home. I live with a family that shows me Christ every single day. They love me and care for me as if I really were a part of their family. I experience what it means to be a part of the body of Christ through this family. At a time where a lot of people tend to feel alone (twenty-somethings just out of college with a part time job in a new place with no friends), I am not alone. I am constantly surrounded by six incredible people that have embraced me as their own. It feels like home, not because of the place, but because they love me.

Along with this family, my life also consists of my current job. My job is unique in that the people that I work with are so wonderful. I am excited to go to work in the mornings because I enjoy being around the people that I work with. They are fun and enthusiastic and so willing to share their lives. There is a joy that I have at work that I love and as cheesy as it is, it kind of feels like a home there too.

Then there is younglife. Talk to any younglife leader and they will tell you how small of a world younglife can be. They are right. Everyone knows everyone and while it may seems like just a lot of acquaintances to the outside person, younglife people have a way of getting really deep really fast. So, we actually know each other really well and truly love each other. My fellow leaders that I interact with regularly are some of the best friends I have ever had. They give of themselves in ways that stretch them and challenge them. They are encouraging and full of life. They share their struggles and their joys and fight to make Christ known. It really is a big family, as cheesy as that sounds, and it’s kind of like being home when I am with them.

If you actually made it this far I am impressed. I just spent a ridiculous amount of time talking about myself. But I needed to make this point. Home is where we fit, where we experience the kind of love that only true family can provide. They are the people that know me. They know my joys and my longings and my faults and my mistakes. They know all of this and still love me, which is completely insane and completely incredible. But here’s the thing, none of this is based on a location. It doesn’t matter where we are, when I am with these beautiful people, I always feel like I am home. Home is not a house or a town or a school. Home is where you heart is being pulled. For me, it is with all of these people that make my life so full, because my heart is with them.

A home is somewhere that you can branch out from on your own and still be connected to. It’s a place you can leave physically, but not really and truly leave behind. Home is the place you can always return to and it seems like something has really changed, no matter how much distance and time has been between you. I have a lot of really excellent homes. Many, if not all, of them are messy and rough around the edges and come with baggage, but they are beautiful not only in spite of that, but because of that. Their joys are my joys and their struggles are my struggles and the other way around. So, it’s not really about where we are, but where our hearts are.

That said, it’s kind of encouraging that I don’t really feel like I have a place to call home. The more in love I fall with God, the less comfortable this world should feel. This world isn’t my home, it’s simply where I reside. One day, I think this all will change. There will actually be a place to call home, a place I belong, a place I was made for. But for now, on this earth, my home is with the people I love that love me, and I am incredibly blessed to have them.