With Many Homes.

It’s strange to be heading home already. I mean, I’m leaving my Iowa home and heading back to my New England. I guess the funny thing about these periods of traveling is that the word “home” becomes more nuanced with each mile of highway. Yes, Iowa is home. It’s where my sweet, crazy, funny, complicated, loud , messy, cherished family is. Iowa is the place I find that white house with green shuters that is so familiar that smells like my childhood. It’s the place I’ve taken every Christmas card picture and the place I find the remnants of each growing year. Iowa is proof I’ve grown up and a reminder that I have much growing left to do. It’s the clothes that are too small and the bike passed down to Gracie.

And this bus I’m on will take me back to Chicagoland. Four wonderful years there and, yes, in its own way, it’s home, too. Chicago is where I grew into myself and filled out my personality with character. It’s the place I spent a lot of money, tears, and time. Chicago is where I learned to love photography and writing and studying and friends rightly. It’s the place that holds some of the most wonderful people I’ve crossed yet. From lakeshore drive to Old Town to Streeterville, this crazy, chaotic city became home.

From Chicago I’ll head back to little South Hamilton and to the little aged building that has a room with my “Home Sweet Home” sign on the door. It’s the place I’m becoming more myself and more like Jesus. It’s the place of having girlfriends and lots of reading to do and discovering how much fun living my life can be. It’s a place of expectation to contentment. It’s the place I hope to keep growing. It’s the place when I drop my many bags on the floor I’ll sigh, “I’m home.”

Yeah. “Home” is a weird word. It’s loaded and bloated with years and change and at the same time it is the consistency of belonging and adventure. I’m going home and I’m going to miss it. And that’s okay. Because pretty soon I’ll be back around again.