They say home is where the heart is. For me that is true, indeed. I feel at home on a beach with sand in my toes, on my yoga mat in a sweaty room, watching an old movie on my couch, in the kitchen making soup, holding hands with my children, in my husband’s arms, sitting around a big table with friends, laughing and sharing stories, having coffee with a friend just being myself.
Home is where I feel grounded body, mind and soul. Connection to myself, connection to someone else, this is home for me.
Standing in church yesterday for the first time in a long while, the slowly sung lyrics moved me to the core only like music can. I was home, in a place I have grown up, in a place where people know me. Singing the words we couldn’t help but think of that day, ten years ago. I wasn’t really sure if I was crying for the lives lost in 9/11 and all the pain of many or if I was crying for the hope I was feeling in my heart. The hope for healing. The hope for possibility. How feeling hope in my heart is also my home.
The line from This is My Song that started the stream of tears down my cheeks was simple but heavy with meaning. “This is my home, the county where my heart is; Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine; But other hearts in other lands are beating With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.”
We all have our own place we call home. Your home and my home may be different but they are a place that no one can take from us because it dwells deep within.
by J.G. McGlothern