No Place Like It...

**First, I would like to point out that I began this blog one year ago TODAY.  I find this to be an appropriate topic for my one-year anniversary. :)**

What makes home home?  These are the things I can think of that make home home, give or take a few:

memories
a sense of the familiar
people you love
favorite places
comfort
a sense of belonging
purpose

If this list is indeed accurate, then I have two homes. 

In Chicago, the region in which I resided from birth until twenty-three, I obviously have memories.  I remember summers in the back yard, making teepees and playing in the fort.  I remember building snow forts in the church parking lot across the street.  I remember foot wrestling with my little brother on the couch in the living room.  I remember packing up my fresh college supplies and driving downtown to be dropped off at Moody for the very first time.  Oh, there are memories.  In Chicago, there is a sense of the familiar.  I can navigate my way through my neighborhood just as well with my eyes closed as when they are open.  I could tell you how to get to all the best restaurants in the city.  I can tell you what traffic will be like on a given day and time, because I am that familiar with the region.  In Chicago, there are obviously people I love.  Most of my extended family lives very near, and we are all thick as thieves.  In Chicago, I have my favorite places: Belly Button Hill, my old bedroom, Grant Park, Moody's plaza, The Chicago River at State Street.  In Chicago, I am comforted as I eat dinner with my family.  I am comfortable sitting on the train alone, headed downtown.  I am comforted as I walk between the enormous buildings, smelling hot dogs and toasted nuts.  In Chicago, I know I belong because there are people who speak as I do.  There are Sox fans everywhere.  There are others who look as Irish/German as I do.  In Chicago, my purpose is to love my family and spend time with them.  Chicago is my home.

And yet, in Florida, where I have spent the last three years of my life, I have found it is my home too.  In Florida, I have memories.  I remember the first night I spent in Florida without my parents and how I cried myself to sleep.  I remember the first Christmas party we had with discipleship girls at our apartment, wild and noisy.  I remember watching my two dear friends and sisters get married in the land of sand, sun, and palm trees.  I remember laughing until my face hurt with friends, sometimes kicking over a glass of pop, other times snorting.  Oh, there are memories.  In Florida, there is a sense of the famliar.  I no longer need a map to get anywhere in a thirty-minute circumference of my apartment.  I can direct you to the best place to park at the beach, and I know some great little neighborhoods in which to ride a bike down cobblestone streets.  I know what the weather will be like at any given time of year... finally.  I love people in Florida.  In fact, that is what has kept me in Florida when nothing else would-- people.  Friends, new and old.  Friends I serve in minstry with.  Friends I live near.  Friends I teach with.  Students I serve.  Girls I disciple.  People I love.  In Florida, I have my favorite places: my bed near the windows, charming downtown Dunedin, hip Hyde Park, the lake outside my apartment.  In Florida, I am comforted when I eat dinner with my Thursday night dinner group.  I am comfortable when I am sitting in the youth room.  I am comforted when I sit with friends in my apartment and laugh.  In Florida, I know I belong because I know what kinds of clothes to wear to survive in the sunshine and the air conditioning.  I know I am wrapped in a hug from a girl I disciple.  In Florida, I have purpose: I teach students and disciple girls, and I love it.  Florida is home.

This two-homes issue used to be a problem for me.  I felt my heart splitting in two, as if  there was a string pulling it from Chicago and another pulling from Florida, and I was stuck somewhere in between.  What I have found recently, however, is that my heart is allowed to be in both places, but I must be content wherever I am.  Right at this moment, as I sit on the loveseat in the dimly-lighted living room in the house in which I grew up, I am content to be here, on vacation, enjoying my family.  I hear my dad working in the basement listening to Harry Nilsson.  I hear the train in the distance.  I feel the air conditioning try to cool a house that has baked in the sun, and I smell the hamburgers we just ate from the grill.  And when I am in Florida in a couple weeks, I will be content to be there, typing away at my desktop in my dimly-lighted living room of my very own apartment, seeing the beautiful fountain in the lake outside my windows, smelling the tropical plug-in I have on the wall, and feeling the delightfully frigid air conditioning for which I pay such a high price.

I haven't learned to be content in every circumstance, because let's face it, I have a lot of circumstances yet to experience.  But I have learned to be content in Chicago and Florida, and that's a step in the right direction.  Took me long enough. :)  Where is home for you?