A Sunday Home

Today, I attended the ward I grew up in for the first time in three years. My family moved to Juneau twenty-some years ago, and we've been in the same ward ever since. The ward has its share of new faces, but mostly it is full with the families I grew up with. I wasn't the only visitor this week, and it was fun to reconnect with others who are also in town for the summer. My heart was full to see so many friends and leaders, people who had loved me when I was a cute kid and through the tough days of adolescents. The hardest part was seeing everyone else who had grown up, like the two-year-old redhead I left who is now nearly eleven. I can't believe I didn't recognize her.

Home is such a strange concept as an adult. For me, home is my house in Georgia more than the address where I grew up and where my parents still live. But at the same time, home is Juneau more than Georgia, as fond as I am of the Peach State. I breathe differently here. There's something in the air or the soil or the rain that changes me for the better. I feel as if I have roots with the forget-me-nots, lupine, and fireweed. The presence of the mountains protects me and surrounds me with support and strength. I will be happy to be home in Georgia when the time comes, but part of me will always miss my home in Juneau.

In today's tender moments, I thought about a future homecoming, to a different home entirely. I hope we'll walk through the doors to welcome arms and smiling friends. I hope we'll find each other across the crowds just to say "It's good to see you." I hope we'll smile until our cheeks hurt, and laugh until our bellies ache. The promise of that joy makes me want to be a little better now. It also makes me want to hold loved ones a little bit closer.

Isn't it nice to be home again.