We spent last week split between visiting Jeff’s family in Raleigh and sneaking in some R&R at Myrtle Beach.
It was nice to get away from the packing and to spend some time on the beach, by the pool, and playing board games with the boys. I always look forward to getting home, though.
There is no denying that I’m a homebody.
I walked through the door, my arms weighed down with bags, and I sighed as I set them down. I know the walls are bare and much of our stuff is in boxes. Despite that, I declared, “It’s so amazing to be home.”
Jeff pointed out what was glaringly obvious. We were coming home only to prepare to move.
While I knew this in my head, the contrast of the consolation of being home against the urgency to pack hit me afresh.
It doesn’t bother me that we’re moving away from this house. I am actually a little weird in that I like the change that comes with moving. And, while I love this house, I’m ready for a new project. I feel an excitement that helps me push through the mundane chore of assembling boxes and smothering breakables in bubble wrap.
What is tapping me persistently on the shoulder, though, is that we will be homeless. It’s only temporary and I don’t feel anxious about where we’ll end up or how everything will fall into place, surprisingly.
What I realize will be a struggle, though, is that I will be a homebody without a home.
I enjoy nestling in the comfy corner of my couch. I love my bed, my favorite sheets when they are fresh out of our dryer, and my blankets are just the right weight. The temperature is set just how we like it. I know where Sebastian likes to curl up, where the boys like to play, and that Jeff is usually pacing the sidewalk, chatting with a friend on the phone, if I can’t find him in the house. There is order and everything has its place.
And for a short time, just a blink in the span of a life, we won’t have that.
As that realization settled, a famous phrase came to mind. This world is not my home. I’m not sure why that popped in my head, but I suppose it was a reminder to not be too attached to things. I mulled it over, took a little license, and rearranged the words in my mind…
This home is not my world.
It’s where we live. It’s where we are comfortable. It’s a place of memory and growth. It’s where creativity has been stirred. It’s where we have taught and learned. It’s a lot of good things.
But it’s not everything.
While I was at the beach, I started a book that is perfect for the untethered homebody – At Home in the World by Tsh Oxenreider.
As soon as I saw the title, I knew that, while it is a totally different scenario, it would speak to me and where I am at the moment.
And who can resist that cover?!