Random Thoughts from a Traveler

It's dark outside. Really dark. Of course, it's midnight-ish, so obviously it'd be dark. (I say "ish" because to be honest I don't know what time it is. I'm central time, converted from Eastern time back to Central time now on Eastern time, and my computer is confused, and apparently so am I. And, I could check my phone, but I just don't wanna. That's why I say "ish.") In addition to the lateness of the hour, I also happen to be in North Central Indiana. (I think that's what this area is called.) The "BIG" street outside my house is a two lane highway that runs into Michigan. The truckers just hop on the Big 13 and right that baby north. Oh yes, so do the Amish. There are no streetlights. Just dark. And quiet. And it's home. The duck farm is upwind. (Oh yes, that means we're downwind. That means- well, you don't need me to explain. Trust me, it ain't pretty.) There is the cornfield behind my neighborhood, and the other one across the street. Oh yes, I am home. And I love my home.

But then there's my other home. The home in Illinois where I live. Where I've been living. Where I've made my life, my friends, my work. The lights are always on. It's Chi-town. Even though I don't live in Chicago, it's close enough to carry the traits that come with a big town. Loud, bright, busy. Oh, and traffic. I love, love, love traffic. The more the merrier. )Um, no. Kidding.)

I have two different worlds. Two different places that I can go to and call home. There are differences and there are similarities. There is of course where my family lives. (In reality, I could also throw Texas out here too, but I'll save that for another day. GO COWBOYS!) The place where I grew up. The place that holds my past. It holds my memories. My secrets. And, in the basement some boxes full of trophies. It is the place that I can see that shaped me to be me. The place where I learned to drive and aced trigonometry. (May that A from back then help me with my math class now!) It's the place I hung with my friends, played games with my family, and walked around the neighborhood alone. It is home. Then there is the place where I live. Where I have new friends (new meaning less than 6 years). The people that I see daily and weekly. The place that I had my first apartment and bought a car all by myself. The place that I work. The place where I fought to become a better me, and still fight. It is where I learned to not be afraid and to enjoy the dark and enjoy my own quiet space. Oh, it is home too.

Tonight is my last night here, at my home, with my parents and family. Tomorrow I will travel back to my other home. I am always sad to leave and happy to arrive. I am at the same time reminded how this home here, on earth, isn't really supposed to be our home. It can be easy to fill misplaced or forgotten as I have so many times throughout my life. The one thing that I should remember, and yet so easily forget, is that there is Someone who always has a place for me. Why is it then, that He's the first one I forget?