A place called Home

 I was standing in Drinklings, one of our local coffee shops the other day... a shop where I don't have to say "Oat milk, please" because they know me well enough to know about my food allergy... a shop where they ask me if everything is okay if I order tea instead of coffee because they know my normal preferences... a shop where they ask if I want a "real cup" when I'm by myself but they don't even bother when I've got the kids with me because they know I need a to-go cup with a lid just in case somebody hits my drink with a stray elbow. I was standing there, waiting for my Lavender Oat milk Latte, when I looked down at the "frequent customer punch card." And I realized, in the very near future, I will have a half-filled punch card that doesn't get redeemed. When we leave Wilmore in a few months (prayerfully and Lord willing), I will probably have a half-full card still in my wallet that I won't be able to use since I don't know when we will be returning. And it that moment, it hit me... Wilmore feels like Home. 

I had realized a few years ago, that my kids see Wilmore as Home. When we were on the trip to visit the team in Albania about 2 years ago, a team serving in an urban environment, Hubby and I realized that we both have "city life" experience. I grew up in Houston, spent my teen years in Cincinnati, went to college and taught in Columbus, OH and then lived in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, at the time, a city of 4 million people. And Hubby? Even though he grew up in a small town in Southern Ohio, as close as you could get to West Virginia without being in West Virginia, he had lived in Columbus for over a decade by the time we got married. City living? No problem. But our kids are a different story. 

We realized that, quite by accident, we had raised our children in a small town in rural Kentucky. A town where we walk to the post office and know most of the downtown business owners by name. A town where we go to church with the family who lives in our old townhouse so misdirected mail and packages get delivered to us at church on Sunday morning. A town where we "drive to the city" once a week so we try to save all of our "city errands" for Thursday morning. And our children have no memories of living any place else but here. They were 2 years, 6 months and not yet born when we moved to Wilmore in 2015, so it's not surprising that this is home for them. It's apparently surprising to me that this is home for me, too. 

Celebrating D's 2nd birthday in the Caboose at the Old Spaghetti Factory, our last dinner out in Columbus, Ohio. 

Leaving the Columbus, OH house. 

For comparison... a picture of little D in front of the big moving van... 

...a picture of D, big 10, from homeschool yesterday. 

The concept of "Home" has been a bit loose for me for a long time. My parents, siblings and I moved from Houston, Texas to Cincinnati, Ohio when I was 15 years old. It's a whole thing. The cultural differences between "America the Midwest" and "America the Texas" are deep and wide. Besides highway feeder roads vs cloverleaf exit ramps (if you know), if somebody in the North asks you a question, they want an answer: "How is your mom?" "Oh, she's fine."

If somebody in the South asks you a question, they want a story: "How is your mom?" "Well, in 1927, when her parents immigrated from Europe, they brought with them a family recipe for pie. Now that recipe has been handed down for generations and my mom has recently misplaced that recipe. So now she's is frantically trying to recreate it for the church potluck where everybody is expecting that specific pie. But recently, she spoke to her Great Aunt's second cousin by marriage who happened to have a copy of that recipe in a family scrapbook. So now she has a new copy of the recipe and is at the store shopping for ingredients. All in all, I say Mom is fine, thank you for asking."

If you try to give somebody from the North a story as an answer, they think you're an idiot who can't understand basic human interaction and walk away from you. If you try to give somebody from the South a straight answer to a question, they wonder why you are so rude and who raised you and somebody better have a talk with that person because this is a rude family. 

That's a lot to navigate as a teenager. 

Anyway... my family moved from Houston to Texas when I was 15. And we moved again 6 months later for better schools and a better living situation. And 3 years later I was leaving for college. And I never lived anywhere for longer than 2 years after that until I got married. (I lived this weird "wandering nomad" life, even though I didn't actually leave places. I was just constantly moving and marrying off roommates and renting new houses.) Even after Hubby and I were married, we only lived in Columbus for 3 years, and I thought that was crazy! How could someone live in one place for 3 long years?? So the idea of "Home" has been less about the "where" and more about the "who."

Then we moved to Wilmore... and we spent 5 years living in student family housing!!! Crazy! ...and we've lived in our current house for almost 4 years! This is the longest time that I have spent in one place with one community since I hit puberty. And this is a community that is partially built on college and seminary people. It's a very transitive community. So when we moved here, planning to only be here for 18 months, I was determined not to put down roots or make friends. And then Monica showed up with dinner. And she kept showing up. And one day, we were friends. Good friends. And there were lots of other people who became good friends. And even though we moved here as part of the revolving "just here for seminary" community, we've stayed. And we've raised our kids here. And we've put down roots in a church and small groups and we've gotten involved with community events and youth activities and we recognize neighbors at the library and the grocery store. Y'all. Seriously. Wilmore feels like Home. 

and that surprised me. 

and that's hard... since we're preparing to leave Wilmore soon. 

The mantle in our dining room... apparently I've been trying to hold all these things in tension for awhile.