The house has quieted down. Remnants of chimney fires, tree decorating, impromptu cinematography, New York Bagels and family trailing in the familiar creaks of an old and comfortable house. I am home.

I am bundled in a down comforter, freshly done talking to a friend about something the Lord spoke to me about this afternoon while I sat for a few minutes in my favorite Potsdam spot. I think I thought coming home would be a placebo, a band-aid, an answer to the swirling mess in my head and heart. I think I thought that coming home would provide the solutions to the questions and remind me of who I am and Who I am representing. I think I thought that coming home would help me to resettle my foundations and replant my feet somewhere sure.

But I knew Sunday morning, and so many, many, times since then, that none of those thoughts were really the issue at all. And today, walking into familiar places where I once belonged and felt belonging, the library, the halls of the English Department at school, the coffee shop, the park--I realized with a startling clarity that none of it felt like home any more. And in that disconcerting feeling I heard God speak:

It has the stench of the world on it. This, all of this, God said to Abraham, as far as you can see, is yours. It's your home. And still Abraham took the lesser plot and gave the better to his nephew. Because he understood that this world was a meager trade and a mere glimpse of something better. He understood that even the best still tasted of less, so settled for the least of all so that there would be a constant reminder of the goodness to come.

I guess I keep thinking, like the boy in search of an adventure, that stability, home, settledness, and certainty, will be my portion someday. That even a single girl can have a home and dishtowels and company on the weekends. I guess I keep thinking that I can someday have the constancy I see in other's lives. I guess I keep thinking, about the things that the people of Hebrews 11 didn't think about. They thought of Heaven and that's it. And as long as good was attached to the stuff of earth, it would never be good enough to call home.

So. I'm home. Sort of.
Mostly I'm just here.
Passing through.