Our band just added a new song to its set that Jaron wrote, and it’s been in my head constantly the last few weeks.  It has a melody that is a little sad, in the most indulgent way, and a perfect match for how I feel when I listen to the lyric.  “If I sang my love another song, would I find my way back home?  Seems we’ve been gone so very long, I doubt if I could ever point on a map of the world and find where we belong.”

Have you ever felt as though life were picking out a theme for you?  You realize that for the last while you keep seeing or hearing the same idea over and over.

Jaron and I left “home” almost two years ago, and it’s been an undulating road since that day, driving out of Escondido, quickly hitting the desert and onto our way through beautiful mountains and monotonous prairie to central Illinois.  We bought a beautiful house, with a fair bit of earth around it.  I started coaching volleyball and we both dove into working at the church that we had come out here to invest in so eagerly.  Since that time we have learned a great deal about ourselves, good and bad.  It’s been a rich time together, and also a trying one for me.  A time for feeling naked and unproven.  But also a time with seemingly unlimited options.  Coaching, playing shows, cooking and gardening.  Barista-ing.  🙂  With all the firsts I’ve enjoyed while living in Champaign, why doesn’t it feel more like home yet?  Why does this now almost-fully-decorated house sometimes feel inspiringly beautiful (seriously, we’ve done a good job), sometimes like a comfort and other times like a burden?

There is something about growing up that I’ve yet to come to terms with, and that is how few things come with it that I took for granted as a child.  As a child, home was a given.  I did not have to seek out the people and places that made me feel at home.  Running away from home was as simple as hiding out down the street for a few hours, knowing someone would miss me.

And now here I am, a new adult, one of a generation that is so far pretty terrible at this whole growing up thing, and I am no further along than the rest of us.  The most remarkable things I’ve done have been the most simple.  Like relearning how to eat or what it means to work hard.

Maybe the feeling of homelessness goes away the same way it appeared.  With time and experiences.  Maybe it takes beginning the next generation in our home to establish the things that made it seem so obvious twenty years ago.  Maybe (and while this isn’t my preferred answer, I suspect it’s the correct one) we’re not meant to feel totally at home.  If I did, I would not have had the curiosity and abandon to adventure to the Midwest, or to my little job at the BIF, or to play a music festival in Cincinnati, or record an album in Nashville.  (No, that last one is not under our belt just yet…)

Maybe this little patch of earth that I have such fickle attachment to is meant to be a sanctuary rather than a home.

“I suspect we belong beyond the places we call home.”