"Home"

Summer in the city is hard to beat. Beach, city life, art fairs and music festivals, good food and dear people. There's a wonderful buzz about the place. Whether you're sitting in a coffee shop or walking Millennium Park there's a beat the city plays that you will find yourself stepping to. You don't have to be quiet or still to notice it. Just the opposite, actually. Just become a part of the city, and soon you'll find the rhythm.

Today I find myself stepping in time. I've shopped Michigan Ave for some wedding shoes, visited the Farmer's market for dinner, and now I'm sitting in a quaint cafe using the internet and sipping the most delicious tea. I feel very Chicago. But there's something I'm very aware of today. Even in the midst of the delightful chaos and entertaining moments of the city, there's no denying my longing for a place to call "home". "Home" is a funny word, isn't it? Right now, "home" is in Streeterville, but in three weeks I'll find myself without a home and looking for a new place to give a the name. "Home" in Iowa with my family and childhood friends; its tucked between the trees of Wilson's Apple Orchard where I spent girlish days and down by the creek with all those slimy frogs. But "Home" is also here, in Chicago. Its at my wonderful church, with the women in my Bible study, with the youth group kids I love so much; it's the place I find myself coming alive as I listen to the jazz band or bike past Moody or watch a movie in the park or cheer as the Cubs loose another game. "Home" is in Haiti and Missouri and Namibia, and hopefully, one day will be in Boston.

But all these places remind me how temporary each place really is. Home isn't a constant, no matter how much we love the one we're in. Home is ever moving, ever changing, ever evolving. And that's part of the delight. Because no matter where I go, You're my Home. My real Home. My forever Home.

I think summer in the city just got beat.