Home.

     So what makes a home? Is it where you grew up? Or it is where your family is? Perhaps it is where your stuff is. Who really knows?

     For those of you who are completely unaware, I'm currently visiting Indiana - the great state that I inhabited until two months ago. I never realized what thoughts and feelings go through the mind of a person who moves nineteen hours away from their past home. You get back to the place you refer to as home, but you never go to your house. So you're home, but you're not. You feel?

     The main reason I came back to the place of my childhood was to go with my youth group to South Carolina; coming back I had a subtle epiphany. There's nothing like walking into your house and instantly crashing after a long trip. Nothing. I walked into my temporary Indiana home, and there was no mom to give me a hug and no floor onto which I could dump the contents of my suitcase. No place I could sit alone and just soak it all in. 

     So what makes a home? I think it is where your stuff is. I realize that sounds shallow and pitiful, but I'm kinda thinking that's what it is. You move away from your family, your home town, and your friends; but you take your things with you when you move. 

     In the church culture I live in, we aren't suppose to make our things our identity. So does that make me wrong? Cause I feel at home around the things that are mine. Maybe my mindset needs to change, but then what is suppose to constitute as my home? I guess I'm at a crossroads of emotion. 

     So what do you qualify as your home? Do you have a place that you call home, or are you simply a wandering soul in this vast world? Maybe we aren't suppose to feel at home anywhere so that heaven is all the more wonderful.