Home

Corey, Kieran and I got home Tuesday night.

Seeing the familiar landmarks, listening to the birds sing an evening song, hugging the necks of Natalie, Connor and Teyla, settling in to my own pillow that night -- these threads weave the fabric of home to me.

It was good to be home. So good.

Yet I'm conscious, always, that home is an ethereal thing. It shifts and shimmers like a mirage. Just when I think I'm close enough to grasp it, it dissolves into thin air.

How do I define home? At its most elemental and important, it is family. My children, my husband. Without them, I am not at home.

But it's also more. Home infers familiarity, comfort. It's the place where I exhale and enjoy and create and live.

Growing up, Minnesota was my home. In so many ways, it still is. Minnesota's lakes, woods, seasons are woven into my story. I am marked by this place.

But San Diego is also home to me. It is where I climbed out of the cocoon and tested my wings. I love San Diego's eternal summer, how its beach communities each have a unique flavor, how its sunshine makes my heart glow. We formed friendships there that will last for a lifetime.

And then there is the future. Where will Corey and I settle? Where will the roots finally be allowed to sink? It's possible that it's in another place altogether.

I long for that to happen. I want to be home. I want to build a nest for my babies and watch them grow and live and learn to fly.

Of course, I believe this yearning ultimately points toward heaven. I believe God planted this thirst in our hearts to point toward Him as our perfect home. The fact that I'm aware of the ache isn't a bad thing. It just means I'm on a journey.

A journey home.