Tonight as I was laying on Michaels lap watching a Redbox it just kind of dawned on me … I feel at home.

Now, 3 hours before I was riding scooters in a parking lot somewhere in Kentucky and shopping at a Price Cutter for the first time ever. There is no “running into a friend” at Walmart these days ?

So as different as our “days out” are, in here it’s home. Homemade dinners from scratch, fluffy blankets, late night coffee, morning snuggles, reading devotions. Maybe it’s because we made the inside look like a home instead of a camper – or maybe it would feel like this regardless. But “home” really is where you park it as the sign says. It’s where they are. Michael, Grady, Layla, Chason and Gabriel. I never thought I could love them more, but man I do! There is just such a bond that comes with selling it all, loading up and traveling the world together – living on a prayer. They are my tribe.

Home. That word is provoking my thoughts tonight. For some of us, we have a “home church”. That’s the one we grew up in. That’s the one with the Fannie Lou, the Faye McVay, the Barbara and Carla and precious ladies that sewed into your soul. It’s the one you slept in the pews because church would sometimes go past bedtime. No matter where life takes you or what other church you land at – THAT will always be your “home church”.

Home. Where is home anyway? Is it where you grew up? I lived in 7 different homes in my first 16 years. It never phased me. Home wasn’t the building. It was the memories in each of them. That was “home”. My family. Mom’s homemade hot chocolate on snow days, the smell of sawdust when Dad walked in the door, playing cowboys and Indians with my brother, spying on my teenage sister, sneaking in my little sisters room late at night to have girl talk, and pretending my baby brother was in fact MY baby, lol! It was the memories.

Hometown. We all have one. It isn’t the stores on the square that are sentimental. It’s the bench that you sat and had icecream on with a friend. It isn’t the Squires Tower … it’s the memory of climbing it with your brother. It isn’t the parking lot, it’s the friends you met there. It isn’t the Pizza Hut, it’s the Sunday church crowd that always rolled in. It isn’t just a field, it’s a field where you found love under a blanket of stars.

So tonight as I crawl into bed and the “house” is still … I am reminded that really, none of us are HOME yet. There is a home waiting for us. One that won’t be broken. One that won’t change. One that will be our true “forever home”.

“God I long for you. I have so much I want to talk about! I can’t wait to just be with You. Thank you for letting us feel at home here during this chapter of life, but please always remind me that I’m homeless until I’m in your lap.” Love, me

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