home sweet home

"There's no place like home." Iconic dates and phrases were part of the topic this morning. At first, I wondered how it would relate to the story of the woman who was brought to be stoned.* Ingeniously, and yet so obviously, it was stated that she must have been thinking something like "there's no place like home" while waiting to hear her fate. The homily went on to talk more about the importance of home. It was hard, but I managed to wait until after the sermon was over to mull things over (ponder them!), and find the connections in my own life.

It's St. Patrick's Day: another one of those days that make me think about Dad, and the relationships each of us had with him. A day that marks my first time standing up, too, and becoming the honest-to-goodness oddball I have always been meant to be. (And not minding in the least, since I'm no longer working so hard at the impossible: fitting in.) That's a good story, but not one for today. I'll just sit here and smile about that first small victory.

Thinking about Dad, and hearing Dorothy's iconic words brought me down a memory lane that has brought me to where I am today. An unnecessarily curvy, windy and bumpy road, in all likelihood, but my road nonetheless. When I think of Home, I think of a place where there's Love Overflowing...

For a long time, home was far away. I would get stressed, upset, lonely, dark, I would say, "I just want to go home!" Probably at least 90% of the time when I'd say that, I'd be standing in my own living room. Why I had a need to "go home" I didn't understand. That I was likely hurting my family saying it, I realized. It wasn't until we returned from Dad's funeral, and Guy said to me, "Now you won't ever be able to go home. I'm so sorry." At first, I was confused: Mom still lived in the house I'd grown up in, and I didn't think that I really meant the house anyway. Then he said, "Dad was home to you, wasn't he." It still brings tears to my eyes, because of how true the statement, how painful the realization--about home, Home, and me.

So much has changed since then. I used to cry every time I listened to that song from The Wiz. More because it hurt to think that Home meant Love than anything else. I didn't realize Home is not about a place or a space on this planet. "Living here, in this brand new world/Might be a fantasy/But it taught me to love/So it's real, real to me" The Home I have now is certainly not a fantasy (it's taken far too much work, vulnerability and honesty to be anything but Real and True Love), and it is certainly not a place or space that anyone else can touch or see on their own.

There really is no place like home, and it really is a place where love overflows and is filled with affection. Home, now is not only where my heart is, but where Guy's heart is, too.

*That whole stoning story is more amazing every time I hear it. Every time, I realize some other reason that there was no way stoning was the answer. Long ago, I realized what the priest today said: "Donde es hombre? It takes two...." Today, I realized that Mary could well have suffered the same fate. In between are many small realizations. Read the story. Wonder at the amazing power of the simple action of writing in the dirt.