Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jog

The family and I were back East this week, visiting family and attending a friend’s wedding. It was a whirl-wind trip, filled with more time in the car than any of us would like to remember but also some great memory-making moments with loved ones. Highlights from the trip include an awesome party thrown by my mom and her amazing boyfriend for both sides of my family (since we didn’t have time to go to everyone’s houses for dinner) and a visit to the Seneca Park Zoo with Auntie Meghan (pictures of the zoo trip throughout this post).

I have to confess that this was not an easy trip for me. Over the past few years, as many of you know, I have struggled a lot with homesickness. Living 3,000 miles away from your family is no picnic. Doing it with young children is even more difficult, emotionally and otherwise. But, with lots of prayer, support from Brian, and some good old-fashioned initiative, I have come to love our new home in Seattle. This was the first time I had been back to my hometown since my heart truly began to feel at home out West. And, for the first time, my heart learned to speak the words of Thomas Wolfe, “You can’t come home again.”

My family moved a great deal when I was a child, but Rochester was always home for me, even during the years we lived away. Now, I have a new home. Finally, it feels like home and not merely some location where my family is currently living. Now that this is home, I have found that I cannot go home to Rochester again. Because it no longer feels like home. It is merely a location where I used to live and where my family sometimes goes to visit.

Of course, hearing the noisy din of my extended family all around me, feeling the arms of my best friend enveloping me in a hug, cooking with my mother at her kitchen stove--there is something magical and wonderful and nostalgic about these things. These are the things I used to believe I needed in order to feel at home. My poor husband was tormented by the thought that he could never give me these things, as we knew his career would never enable us to relocate to Rochester. (Believe me, we explored every avenue!) After a few years of riding an emotional see-saw, I came to the realization that I needed to turn my heart over to the Lord and learn to let Him satisfy me where I was. Slowly but surely, God worked in my heart, giving me the ability to find a new sense of home.

Home for me now is the familiar meals that I cook for my husband and children, the smell of freshly baked bread that I’ve kneaded with my own hands, my daughter’s little arms around my neck, the feel of the bed my husband and I share, the smell of my babies after a bath, Sophia’s stuffed animals and Duplo blocks scattered on our living room rug, the view of Mt. Rainier towering over the shimmering lake as I cross the 520 bridge, the scent of pine, picking berries at our favorite local farms, roasted salmon, sharing an impromptu dessert with our downstairs neighbors, blushing golden Rainier cherries purchased on the roadside in the summertime, the cozy patter of rain on the roof as I curl up with my family in our own house, watching a movie and snacking on homemade popcorn.

For the past three and a half years, well meaning friends and family have reminded me during my bouts of homesickness that “Home is where the heart is.” For too long, I tried to split my heart in two. I know some people who can do this successfully, but I have never done well with living in limbo. I need stability, and I need to be whole. Now that I find that my heart is at home here in Washington, with my husband and children, there is a grieving inside me for the home I cannot come back to. Yet, at the end of the grieving, I sense that there will be a peace. Rochester is no longer my home, but it is a nice place to visit, a place full of friends and family, familiar sites, fond memories, and a lot of love. And in my new home, there is family also and friends, sites that grow increasingly familiar, fond memories in the making, and love, and love, and love.