Home

Awhile back, Kiddos & I were driving to the library.  We were listening to the radio, and this song came on.  Kiddo 1.0 piped up from the back seat: "Turn it up mama, it's God singing to us!"
Me: Turn what up?  God? Where?
Kiddo 1.0:  The song, mom, the song.  Listen.

Hold on to me as we go, as we roll down this unfamiliar road.  
Just know you're not alone, 'cause I'm gonna make this place your home. 

Me:  Kiddo 1.0, how do you know that is God?
Kiddo 1.0: Because he made our home.  The song is about the Earth and how He is always with us.
Me: Silently tearing up in the front seat.  For a lot of different reasons.  First, tears of joy because that's beautiful theology, from a little one.  I love that she listens to love songs and hears her Creator singing to her.  Second, tears of confusion because this particular theologian had been screaming at me not EVEN an hour earlier for doing something horrific like brushing her hair in the bathroom instead of in the living room.  It's so, so disorienting to have intense joy and frustration for one little creature.

Fast forwarding, I tucked this experience away to unpack later.  And I'm sitting here, wondering about the concept of "home."  For a portion of my childhood, I was a military brat.  By the time I was 8, my family had lived in 8 or 9 homes in 5 different states/countries.  Enter a season of stability with 1 home for 10 years, followed by college/marriage/early career season of 9 homes in 8 years.  Definitely calls into question the merits of a physical space being the defining characteristic.  Then, my thoughts wander to some of my most vulnerable clients.  The ones that are in foster homes, waiting on a legal system to define their tomorrows.  And they remind me that "home" isn't just a physical space, it's a mental health commodity.  Then, my thoughts wander back to Kiddo 1.0 and another recent experience:

We've started kindergarten this month. Big deal, around here.  Kiddo 1.0 is in heaven.  She loves this learning, playing business.  Except when the business goes a bit off-script (so.my.child).  Which is how we found ourselves, holding hands in a very, very loud and crowded and chaotic school cafeteria.  Kiddo 1.0 had tears rolling down her face and was completely stumped about how to navigate this not-outside-because-its-raining-recess.  And I, in my Master's Degree, Awesome Mom Splendor, had a very appropriate response started to cry too.  Cue the 5th grade angel.  This creature walked up to Kiddo 1.0, asked her if she knew how to play "Go Fish," and invited her to join the game.  Kiddo 1.0 let go of my hand, went on to win "Go Fish," and have a great day at school.

THAT, my people, is home.  That gift of "you are struggling and you are worthy" is home.  Sometimes it comes in a song.  Sometimes it comes in a game of "Go Fish."  My hope and prayer is that I can BE that to others.  And when I can't be that,  when I'm too tired or disenchanted or wounded, that I can TRUST that in others and accept the invitation.