church is the most consistent variable in my life. three houses and fifteen years
it took me to realize. in fifteen years i’ve learned who killed abel but not why i should see god in blooming daffodils.

is home a steeple? i do love stained glass sunlight & silver cups, but. i used to believe god played the organ, and there are decade-old drawings fingered into velvet pews half a country away, but.

but even after seven hundred eighty-nine sundays, why must i still chew the inside of my cheeks, on longer possessing the patience to love, hate, and pray on command, and lacking the talent to lie?

what is a home if you still question its foundation?

is home predisposed, or chosen?

...

what is a home if you don’t question its foundation?

…

i’ve been forgetting to count myself in groups lately. i hope god doesn’t have the same tendency.

 

What is home? 

Home is not just a place , a house , a country. Home is more than that. Home can be found in a person. I found this person. My home is my mother. She has been the first home I lived in when I grew in her stomach. By feeding me with food but also love. When I feel depressed, sad or lonely I always know that I can find comfort in her arms . Even if someday we’re homeless I will never lose my home, because I know that when I am with her I am at home. My mother taught me how to love , how to be patient. But she never taught me how to live without her, and I know that when someday she will be gone, I would have lost my home forever and I would never find a home like THAT again.

Home to me, is the sound of crickets dancing in the fields of milkweed at six thirty two in the morning. At about nine twenty four at night. The little green christmas lights known as fireflies emerge from the tall weeds. “Let's get the mason jars everybody”. We pounce off the couch, turn off the TV and get some free night lights. You wake up in the middle of the night to the smell of dead fireflies. You reach down to your water bottle to get a drink as a load of carpenter ants attack your hand. You shake your hand to get the little black speckles of your hand, so you don't mind the drink any more and go back to bed. When you wake up your house smells more like a dumpster as you get closer to your mason jar. You chuck the jar off the deck, and a couple ants go flying out of your sleeve when you do it. After you're done you argue with your dad to not go to school, but it doesn't work.

Homes are confusing, I used to think that my home was in Florida, then I moved to Germany, and thought that, that was my home, and then I moved here, and now, here is my home. But none of them felt like a real home, since I was moving so often, I was never there long enough to really call it my home. Everywhere I went it never truly felt like home, I hope that will change soon. I really want a place that I can truly call home. And here especially doesn’t feel like home, it feels like something temporary, all my stuff isn’t even here yet. I want that comfort, of lying in a real bed, with all my special stuff, right near me. It feels like I left a whole different life behind me when I moved. But home isn’t where you live, it’s where your family is, that’s how I’m able to handle these moves.