A Longing for Home

      I am a very blessed person. I say this because I all too often look around and feel the opposite. They should tell you when you are very small to never look around. You will always see what is beyond and what is below and then you will quickly forget the below and yearn for the beyond. I do this and should not. I have always done this and should have never. I know better and still do. I hope that will go with age.

     This post is not about being content it is about longing. It is about longing for a place and that place is home. Home can be a lot of things and there are many things that it can't be. I am so blessed because I do not have much, but I do have a home; not a house, but a home. I have a wonderful place to come home to everyday after work. I have a place that I can take refuge in. I have a place I can come to and hide. I have a place to rest. This post ia about having a place to come to.

     This place is an old home; over a 100 years old to be honest. The paint is long overdue for a new coat. The shingles need to be replaced. Some of the tile in the kitchen is cracked. The stairway needs to be sanded down and refurnished. The list of what needs to be done at my home is far too long for this little post, but this has nothing to do with my Home. All of these things are merely accessories to my Home. I did not say that my Home is nice, palatial, large, luxurious, etc. My home is restful and peaceful. I wouldn't trade that for anything. Anything. Not even new paint, a new roof, a flat screen t.v., a yard makeover, etc.

     Home is something you long for. What I mean by this is that when you are away or sick, you have some place that you long to be; somewhere you would rather be. Home is the place you long for. I know whenever I was sick or something was going really badly in college all I wanted to do was lay in my bed at home and have everything taken care of. That is what home is to me: a place where everything is okay, no matter what. It is a place where the whole world is fallen down around you and you can rush into your home and it is a refuge. Home is that. Home is a refuge from the whole world and everyone in it.

    Home used to be in Sorrento, Florida. I longed for this place on six continents. I longed for this place through 4.5 good, but rough years in college. I longed for this place for a couple good, but rough years after college, but then in 2006 my home became a person.The person that painted the picture that starts this post. I am not saying that this place was perfect in high school, college, after college, etc. That is not what home is. Home is far from perfect. Home is broken like everywhere and everything else, but it is different. No matter how bad things are at home, it is so much better (to me) than anywhere else. Home is not easy. Home is home. Home is a refuge, not a fantasy place of tranquility.

   I am in no way trying to say that my life is perfect. All I am trying to say is that I have always had a home. When I was pretty young, it was a a brick home on a canal with a small room that I shared with my older brother. When I was a littler older and up until I got married, it was an old house surrounded by woods that made me who I am. And now it is old house that sits on a hill, but mostly it is a girl with curly hair and a smile that lets me know that no matter how crazy things get, how thin the money needs to be spread this month, no matter how long my to-do list is, no matter how much hair I lose, weight I gain, etc. that all is well and that I am home and all is well.

   Sitting at work and looking forward to going home,
       David