I had a dream the other night that I was back in my hometown. For some reason, I walked on side of the highway from my parent’s house to the gym, and I cried on the way back. I was glad to be with my family, but it wasn’t I5, and there were no sidewalks or bike lanes or tall pine trees anywhere. Things looked familiar, and it was good to see the sights I grew up seeing, but it didn’t feel like home. And that was hard – still is.
Moving to and living in Seattle has wrecked how I’ve viewed home. I used to have one picture of it, and moving here shook that upside down and into pieces. Before, it wasn’t a perfect picture that I had, and there were things that frustrated me a lot about my hometown, but it was one picture – all I knew. Now I have pieces of two different puzzles to make up my picture of home. One side is a big city with cool shops and restaurants, tall pine trees, the Puget Sound, Lake Washington, lots of fruit trees, and our very good friends. It’s cool and artsy. It’s the first place we lived as a married couple, and where our first baby will be born. The other side is a southern state, warm most of the year, filled with countryside, the places I used to go as a little girl, and our families. It’s homey in it’s own way. There’s family and room to sprawl out. It’s where we first met and where we got married. It just makes me sad that they don’t fit together as one perfect place – that I’ll always be torn and homesick, until Jesus comes. It’s something that I never had to face before.