Hannah and I went to London yesterday (Hannah had to leave Spain so that she had a passport stamp entering Spain after the issue of her visa) and as we were preparing to return to Spain she asked me if I was ready to go home. That question made me stop and gulp. Home, where was home?
In June we sold our house in Kernersville and for six weeks we lived amidst boxes and in a continual yard sale. In July we moved into a temporary home, a blessing bigger than words could ever express, yet it was a borrowed home. At the end of September we moved to Spain and landed in our own apartment, yet no furniture was followed by lots of Ikea boxes and furniture in every stage from still int eh box, partially assembled, and usable.
There is just something about the place you lay your head. I know the old saying "home is where the heart is." Maybe that is why that question was so hard to answer. I know that I am where I am supposed to be, but there is still a piece of my heart that isn't sure where it is.
So my answer to Hannah's question - I was ready to be back with family, but home is still a little hard to define.
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