Musings about "home"

I remember the first time I called my college dorm room “home.” I ran into one of my 3 beautiful roommates on campus and when they asked where I was going I responded by saying “home” before quickly correcting myself and saying “the quad” (as we lovingly called our room).  Walking back to my room, I didn’t know what to think. On one hand, I was so excited to have finally subconsciously called this place home, for it meant that this was a treasured and comforting place to me.  But on the other hand, it gave me a sad feeling.  Growing up in the same house in my little Connecticut town all my life, I had a very concrete and distinct knowledge of what “home” was.  When someone said “home,” I was barraged with images of our pink house (which is now tan), the donkey statue in the back yard, our perfect climbing tree, and my tan paisley room which is desperately trying to return to its roots and be a guest bedroom again.  I saw my church, my schools, countless fields and parks, and adorable houses.  I didn’t want to let go of that for a minute. And somehow, by saying that the quad was my home, I felt as though I had let a little bit of that go.  I didn’t know how I could have more than one home.

Then I spent the summer working at a camp in Pennsylvania and went straight to Rwanda for the semester to study abroad and so spent only a single day at my house from June through December.  I had such deep longings for my Connecticut home while in both these places.  But, I too missed being at school and spending time in the quad.  After a year at school, that had become a bit of home too.  And after two months spend in the sanctuary of my camp in the woods, well, I missed that home while in Rwanda.  And then even more- when I got home from Rwanda and was sitting in my room in quaint New England winter weather, I had such a deep desire for home in Rwanda.  It seemed as though each place I went, I both made a new home and felt like I had lost a home as well.  The land of a thousand hills had captured my heart, and I can’t even begin to list the number of things I miss about that home (as cheesy as this sentence sounds). Returning to the school I loved felt so new and strange, and every day that I woke up I longed for Rwanda.  I can’t even explain how difficult it was to be back.  I think because Rwanda in so many ways is the polar opposite of school, it was challenging to be away and I missed it so deeply.  I didn’t know how I could live so long and so far away from a place that truly was home.

I started thinking about the concept of home recently when friends were joking with me about if I ever even went home.  They had a point. I go to college over four hours from my hometown, spent my summer in the woods of Pennsylvania, went to Rwanda for the semester, and spent my spring break on a service trip- I hadn’t been home for an extended amount of time for a while. 

But what does “home” even mean? Because the more I travelled, the more I spent time in other locations, the fuzzier that concept became to me.  Instead of only seeing clear pictures of my darling town when someone said that word, there was a big collage in my mind now, splattered with pictures of all the places I’ve had the blessing to spend periods of time in.  So when someone mentions that I don’t spend time at home, or asks me if I’m planning on returning “home” after graduation, I find myself at a bit of a loss for words. 

Developing many homes all over doesn’t even make me feel more grounded to this world.  I feel like I’m in a constant state where I’m never fully at home.  I can’t be in four places at once.  I can’t help but not feel completely whole or completely myself, because there’s some of me at each place.  And I think of wonderful people in my life, some of whom I’ve discussed these feelings with and some I haven’t, who face this on a larger scale, and I can’t image how they feel. 

But don’t we all feel this way?  As human beings, we weren’t even made for this world.  Living in one place for one’s entire life doesn’t take away that feeling in us that we’re not completely home. And it’s because we’re simply not, and while we’re living here in our earthly bodies, we never will be.  In reflecting on this concept of home, I was instantly hit over the head with this line from scripture: “But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.” (Philippians 3:20-21).  Our citizenship is in heaven, and we’ll never fully feel at home until we’re reunited with our Creator and Savior in His heavenly realm.

It’s a strange thought that I will most likely only keep making “homes” as life goes on and that these feelings, which have really only intensified since returning to Rwanda, will continue.  But the knowledge that this isn’t even my home at all is somehow… comforting?  I didn’t know how I could handle being so far from Rwanda and so long from being back, and yet, with time it has gotten better.  And furthermore, that is an innate feeling we have of being separated from our eternal home in heaven, and something we all know and feel.  Knowing that someday I will be completely whole and will have such a strong feeling of belonging is an exciting and comforting thing.

I really hate to end a post like this, because I didn’t really get anywhere. And yet, I did?  I finally felt as though I could articulate many of my feelings from being back this semester, and since this blog has been all about my journey being away from “home,” this seemed like the relevant place to share this saga.