Translate

Monday, December 22, 2014

There's No Place Like Home

Home can mean different things to different people. For some home is where you lay your head at night; for others home is where your loved ones reside. We make homes in our hearts for the ones we love and sometimes home is established in the place you go to speak to God. Whether home is defined by brick and mortar or the stuff that dreams are made of, one thing is for sure: home is supposed to be where we feel loved, safe and comfortable.
 
Home made cinnamon rolls.


Growing up I toiled with the idea of running away from home. Its weird when you're a child because that's probably the only time where home can be destructive, but leaving is an unlikely  consideration. I knew very little outside of home and the thought of wondering the world scared me. Though home consisted of pain, rape, mental abuse and humiliation, it was still the place where my brother and sisters lived. In my young mind the only way I could run away was if I took them all with me. 

When one of my sisters was a baby and the abuse from my father seemed unbearable, I had dreams of growing breasts and producing milk so I can breastfeed my baby sister and run away with my siblings. I still dream some of those dreams, and the town that we
Sitting up in my room
run away to has presently made it's way into some of my other sleep visions. This place of freshly paved roads lined with cream, gray and white houses and buildings with arches in front of them, became my other home. I became addicted to the feeling of serenity and safety that through it my subconscious offered and it contributed to my desire to sleep as much as I could to escape what was happening to me. Today it is one of places where I go to when I meditate, and I find myself drawn to architecture that reminds me of the buildings in my dreams.  


My mom and I went to church recently and the preacher spoke on bringing the glory of God home. He spoke about how people are happy outside of their residents, and jolly when they spend time with their friends; but miserable when they are at home with their family. I couldn't relate. It took me twenty-three years to get away from the home I grew up in and now that I have my own, I've created a space so filled with love it is the only place I want to be most of the time. My children are happy when they're home (I can barely get my eldest to go out with her friends and I anticipate a phone call in the middle of the night when my youngest sleeps over his grandmothers house), and my friends see it as a place to escape to. 
I go out into the world to work, learn, teach, help and expand my territory. And while I bring the glory of God home all the time, I am thankful that my home now is not only a destination for glory, but a source of it as well.