welcome home

“Welcome Home”

This is what the priest said to me as I left the church tonight with ashes on my head and bitter wine on my tongue. I haven’t been to that church or any other in several weeks. More importantly, I can’t remember how many times people have said those words to me. Home has always been a strange concept for me…something I have struggled to understand. I have never lived anywhere more than six years. I am constantly moving. I am constantly leaving. I am not always coming back. A friend of mine said home is where ever his parents are. I suppose that is true for me as well, but it is hard to truly say that when my parents live in a house I have never lived in and a town I barely know.

Often I go to the various places where the people I love now live and I hope to find home. Chicago, Alaska, New York, Philadelphia, Florida, and Mississippi, all hold pieces of my home. All are easy to go to, but difficult to leave. Recently, I drove away from one of these places and my heart began to physically and literally hurt. That has never happened to me before and it scared me, but something about it was incredible and good.

In my house, my bedroom walls are bare. There are still boxes I haven’t opened. There is always a suitcase ready to leave or ready to be unpacked. Something about it is comforting, but I am not yet ready to call it home. It is only a part of the journey towards the place I really belong. I just haven’t been able to figure out where I am headed.

But tonight, when the Priest looked at me, held my hand and said, “welcome home,” everything about it felt right. Peace came over me and I thought perhaps, I have finally arrived.