What is home to you?

Twenty-plus years ago, I had recently moved to a new town for a job. I was newly divorced, with one child away at college and the other living with his father and stepmother. In a company-rented apartment, with my own place on the market, the only personal things with me were my cat and my mother’s rocking chair.

I remember walking out of a tree lighting service the first Monday evening in December with the song “I’ll be home for Christmas” still playing in my head. I remember the desperate feeling of I don’t know where home is. That was a bad year.

Since then, I’ve lived in several physical “homes,” and I know where home is.

Strangely, one of them is hospitals. My father was sick a lot and there were frequent trips to hospitals (from the time I was four until his death when I was 30). Hospitals provided help. Later, when I was working in hospitals, there was a sense of safety. Where else are the lights always on, there are always people, and food is available?

Another place of home is my hometown. For me, it’s not the place I’m “from.” I’ve tried moving away and always hated it. The town itself with its familiar streets and restaurants is mine. My roots here are deep, partly because of all the memories of those who have passed on.

Finally, home is inside me. Starting with that December of 2001, sitting in a rocking chair in front of a two-hour fire log with a cat in my lap, and realizing God is with me. Emanuel, God with us.

Most days now, home is my cozy nest with significant loved ones. It’s also coffee with close friends at Starbucks, and in rooms of recovery. Home is wherever I feel safe. And my safe place begins with knowing a loving God is with me, and I am never alone.