I know. I've been feeling it too. I'm sure you don't feel it as often as I do, after all, you're all there and I'm the only one here. But I've been feeling the distance--with every phone call, with every email, with every read through the weblog posts of you whom I love, but you whom I feel further from every day.
It's the cost of being all here I guess.
It's that startling realization that when we talk about lengthening our lease, signing up for Children's Ministry at my local church, knowing that only six weeks remain until my diploma is in hand, and the place I am searching for employment is here--it's that realization that jolts me and draws me back to the deep down familiar. To the phone, the Internet, the emails, the orange package slips in my mailbox announcing that someone at home loves me and thought of me. Anything, anywhere, just to remind myself that if I pinch myself and wake up and this place suddenly isn't home anymore, there is still a home somewhere else.
But life isn't meant to be lived like that.
And it's sad to me.
Because I want to defend myself, this transition, you see, assure you that I'll be home, involved, that things will go back to the way they used to be. But they can't. Because they're married now, and them too. They have a baby and they live in a different house. And he isn't around anymore and she isn't really either. That family moved far away and she moved back home. And she moved in. And she's pregnant, and so it she, finally. He asked her to marry him, and she said yes. And I moved away. To here. Cleveland, Tennessee.
All the changes that keep life from being a circular abyss; aren't you glad?
I know. I've been feeling it too. With every phone call. Every email. Every orange package slip in my mailbox. Every birthday missed. And every baby shower skipped. With each mention of traditions that I'm missing and with every photo viewed repeatedly.
But I've also been feeling something new. With every walk into our peaceful home. With every dinner around the multiple tables of our makeshift family. With every glimpse of sprouting seeds in our garden. Every wedding attended. Every hug received. Every bit of love given.
Learning that here, at last, I am home.
It's the cost of being all here I guess.
It's that startling realization that when we talk about lengthening our lease, signing up for Children's Ministry at my local church, knowing that only six weeks remain until my diploma is in hand, and the place I am searching for employment is here--it's that realization that jolts me and draws me back to the deep down familiar. To the phone, the Internet, the emails, the orange package slips in my mailbox announcing that someone at home loves me and thought of me. Anything, anywhere, just to remind myself that if I pinch myself and wake up and this place suddenly isn't home anymore, there is still a home somewhere else.
But life isn't meant to be lived like that.
And it's sad to me.
Because I want to defend myself, this transition, you see, assure you that I'll be home, involved, that things will go back to the way they used to be. But they can't. Because they're married now, and them too. They have a baby and they live in a different house. And he isn't around anymore and she isn't really either. That family moved far away and she moved back home. And she moved in. And she's pregnant, and so it she, finally. He asked her to marry him, and she said yes. And I moved away. To here. Cleveland, Tennessee.
All the changes that keep life from being a circular abyss; aren't you glad?
I know. I've been feeling it too. With every phone call. Every email. Every orange package slip in my mailbox. Every birthday missed. And every baby shower skipped. With each mention of traditions that I'm missing and with every photo viewed repeatedly.
But I've also been feeling something new. With every walk into our peaceful home. With every dinner around the multiple tables of our makeshift family. With every glimpse of sprouting seeds in our garden. Every wedding attended. Every hug received. Every bit of love given.
Learning that here, at last, I am home.
posted by Lore at 3.4.07
4 Comments:
I wrote about home last April ... briefly ... but thought I'd share it with you again. Since you know something of "home away from home" as I do. It's hard to feel your heart ripped in two ... pieces of it in NY, pieces of it here ... being "all here" is difficult.
http://4jacqs.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!5E3DD68DFC12586B!1870.entry
I have yet to get to that point, feeling that this place is home. I am looking forward to moving again, hopefully soon. Oh, I am still investing but it is much harder here, than any other place we've lived, for many reasons. There are times I would like to stop, settle somewhere, but I am quite confident that is a while down the road. God has us on a path of adventure for a bit longer. If nothing else, I know that one day I will stop - in heaven, the best home of all.
So glad you have found the feeling of home where you are.
Lore everytime I see you around campus my heart rejoices! And if that old cliche is true; "Home is where the heart is," you make me feel at home with every sighting. I am glad you are here for a time, in Cleveland, TN. It's comforting to know that wherever I am in life, hearing your voice, seeing your hand-writing on a green "I miss you" note, or seeing you at all, will make me feel at peace...because home is my haven, a peaceful place. Thank you for being home to so many people! We love you so much!
You're loved everywhere you go. You fit like a perfect missing puzzle piece. That's pretty cool. And although I love seeing you flourish in TN, I miss seeing you here.
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