I have always loved that saying "home is where the heart is". Yet as of late I am not sure where my heart lives. I know I love to live where my children play, imagine, laugh, and love in safety. Where my husband's arms hold me. Where my dreams have room to thrive and grow. And I use to think that where ever these things were, my heart would call home. But as I wander the earth and move from building to building I find they feel less and less like a home and more and more like a passage to another life, time, and place.
I was thrilled beyond words when my husband bought me this beautiful gem of a cozy home nestled up against majestic pines and grand trees! I could not wait to decorate and make it ours! I dreamt and planned! My husband pitched in and helped with the painting and building of this and that to feather our nest. I was planning on living in this house for a least ten years and hoped maybe by some chance I could keep it forever.
Then reality of life came calling and I now know I most likely will only have a life in this building for maybe two more years, after which I will need to sell or leave it behind. And suddenly the passion and energy I had to make my mark on this mere en-closer of mortar and beams faded quickly away. It seems but hollow joy to add my touches and marks.
I know from experience that making a building feel like a home has benefits far beyond description or simple mentioning. It makes one feel at peace and secure to open and enter such a place and gives a sense of belonging which few other experiences can match. It is wonderful to go from stark walls and bare often uninviting interiors to ones that cheer and beckon one to enjoy. A lurking shadow always seems to hover though when you know tis but for a spell.
I admire those who move from place to place and quickly, it often seems almost instantly, make the barest of structures a home. And I want to do this and I plan to achieve it. When the time comes however, I find myself dreading the effort and passion I must outlay knowing it is only to be left behind or worse, destroyed. Each time I move I vow to make the next place the best coziest place I can, and at times I succeed. But I find the more I move, the less gumption I seem to have to accomplish the task. And so it takes me longer and longer to complete the mission only to have me wishing I had finished it sooner so we could have enjoyed it just a tad bit longer, and all the while my heart yearns for a home. A respite. A place to create and enjoy. A building filled with memories and dreams. A structure that protects from more then wind and rain. A porch where I can rock and watch the years go by with my husband by my side and a seasonal wondrous drink in one hand and and the hand of my lover in the other. And as the grey creeps slowly across our crowns, the laugh lines deepen, and eyes sparkle more from memory then sight, I want to be in a building that echos and reverberates with joy and love, laughter and tears, smiles and frowns, hugs and tumbles, meals shared and alone. Where no matter where I look with eyesight dimmed, I can see the face and smile of a loved one there.
And maybe the saying is right. Maybe you only need to have the heart to make a place a home. But my well traveled heart longs for a little more and so now I must look to see where my heart is so I can at last be at peace in my home.
