building a home

I have always loved this house that is just a few steps away from the Captain Dusty’s in Manchester by the Sea. I sat on the swings at the park across the street many times during my 3 years at Gordon. Sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, and always taking pictures. 
As I enter my third month living in Annapolis as well as the third month my parents have been living on the North Shore waiting to move into their new home, I am rebuilding and redefining home. When I tell stories about Malvern, I sometimes catch myself purposefully avoiding the word “home”. Is it still home if my parents don’t live there anymore? What about those memories and friends and lessons learned? Do they suddenly become homeless because my address has changed? And what about Hamilton. I called that area home for three years of college, but that is tied to Gordon and not my parent’s new house. Is Annapolis home? 
I get confused when I try to explain to people where I moved from. It goes a little something like this: well I grew up in Pennsylvania, but I moved to California and then transferred schools to Massachusetts, but after I graduated and moved back home for a week my parents moved to Massachusetts and now I live here. Oh, and I wasn’t actually born in Pennsylvania, I was born in California and stopped in Minnesota for awhile as I made my way east. Blank stare. 
My home is my family, so that means part of my home is Denver with my sister and part of my home is Massachusetts with my parents. 
My home is also friends and communities who have supported me, who I love and miss, and who I have built meaningful relationships with. So that means my home is in North Dakota on the Rez with my young life kids and friends in ministry there. And in Santa Barbara with the girls who loved me despite my stupidity freshman year at Westmont. It is at Gordon and across the country with friends who shared those absolutely crazy three years with me. And also in Malvern with the runners who pushed me to keep getting stronger, with the mentors who prayed me through adolescence, with the friends from Good Sam whose hearts have been intertwined with mine. 
My home is where the Lord allows me to meet truth, honesty, and vulnerability. I guess that means that most of all my home is God. 


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