It is no secret that I love to stay busy. I love to hike and bike and travel. When I leave the house, I enjoy anticipating what each new day may bring. Perhaps it is innate in me, this sense of adventure. Perhaps it was cultivated by my elders, who made each step outside the house seem full of promise. Perhaps it stems from all the reading I’ve done in my life. Whatever the cause, the wanderlust is strong. I often feel that I am at my best when I am tackling the unknown. But the crazy thing is, no matter where I am and what I am doing nothing ever beats the feeling of coming home.

Home, to me, is not a physical location. Although, I do love to return to my Sleep Number bed and my whirlpool tub. Home is where a person feels loved, accepted, comfortable, and safe. Home is a place where you can be vulnerable and free to be however you want to be. Home is wherever those strong bonds of connection exist. Certainly, my husband and I have tried to make sure our permanent address is truly “Home”, but we can feel at home in lots of locations.

My husband jokes that I am “leaving him” again and again, when I take a trip with my friends or my parents or when I go on a work trip.  My standard response is that I will always come home. What I mean is that I will return to him. When I am out and about, I enjoy my independence, but I often wish he was with me to share in a new experience.  Where he is, is home.

This week, I traveled with my parents on our annual Christmas shopping excursion. I have been “Helping” my Dad shop since I was a little girl. I am actually, pretty good at spending his money after years of practice. We shop. We eat. We find Christmas lights. It is so easy to settle into the bonds of family and togetherness. I am 56 years old and when I am with mom and dad, I am a child. I am loved. Wherever they are is home.

Sadly and wonderfully, our children turned out to be the independent and capable adults we raised them to be.  It is wonderful that they are highly functional, successful humans. It is sad for us, because they have flown far from the nest. They are far enough that visits are infrequent. I cherish the sporadic group texts with photos of their lives and sarcastic commentary. A phone call is a gift.  If both children are in a house at the same time, I am giddy with delight. Wherever they are is home.

This month, I had lunch with the woman who hired me for my first administrative job. I also had a meet up with a group of women that I hired and mentored. I had dinner with my current work colleagues and a new friend who had flown in from California to speak at a training that I had arranged. I met my high school bestie for dinner and a concert. Bonds of friendship and sisterhood run deep. Strong women, supporting each other. My tribe. Home . . . different than my family, but shelter none the less.

It has taken me awhile to catch on. When I was younger, I used to feel out of step. I tried to fit in only to find that I didn’t. I tried to be content with the normalcy of small town life. I once had a fight with a high school friend, when I told her that I wanted to leave our town and see the world. She became angry and told me that I was an ungrateful person who didn’t appreciate home. It got so heated that my bestie made her get out of the car and walk home. I still don’t really understand what the fight was about, but I remember feeling like maybe something was wrong with me, that the feeling of always wanting more and expecting more of myself was unnatural. I did not feel at home, despite my best friend’s effort to back me up. Teenage angst and feelings of being out place are difficult. Trying to find your center in a world that can be hostile is challenging. Being true to yourself in a world that seemingly tries to force conformity is exhausting.

It was only later that I began to understand that I can adventure and be myself and at home anywhere, because of the love and support I have experienced. I feel at home when I in my house and when I am 1,000’s of miles way.  My husband, children, parents, grandparents, and friends not only put up with my authentic self…they nutured me.  They accepted me.  They encouraged me. Not always in ways I recognized or even appreciated, but always shaping and challenging me.

I know what it is like to be an outsider and unwelcome.  I have experienced discomfort, loneliness, and alienation.  But in all of those moments, I have been blessed to think of home.  To know that I am loved. To know that I have people who see me. Best of all, I know that God also sees me.  He hears me. He nurtures me. He accepts me and encourages me.  I can feel at home anywhere on Earth because of the amazing love I have experienced in my life.  And because of God’s amazing love, when my adventure is over in this life, heaven will be my home.

Coming home- returning to a place of safety, security, comfort, and love. I try to make a daily homecoming, by mentally reviewing my blessings.  I appreciate the creature comforts of my surroundings. Enjoying the feel of the carpet on my bare feet.  Noticing the trees in the yard. But I also choose to remember those who have and will continue to make me feel at home. Smiling at the way my husband’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he says something funny. Appreciating the phone call from my son, who just called to pass the time.  Home is not a place that you purchase…it is a thing that you make.  Coming home is also a deliberate action.  It is a choice to find and cherish safety, love, comfort, and your authentic self. Nothing ever beats the feeling of coming home.