"Home"

The bright sun sparkles off the snow topped mountains. The crisp wind blows the orange and brown leaves around the yard. I love fall time. I love being outdoors. I love where I live most when it is full of people, especially little people. Well, ok, when my children and grandchildren are home. I love working outside with Terry and smelling the way he smells when he's outdoors. Even though this is a beautiful place, I don't love it because it's a beautiful place. I love it because of the memories it has and because of the hope that more memories will be made. Most of the time lately I don't care if I come home. And that bothers me. It's comfortable, yes. But it does not bring me joy. Mostly it just seems empty.

When my Mom moved from the Ranch and went to KC and my Dad moved and married Marlene I thought my home was gone. But then I visited Mom in KC and I felt home again. Her apartment was "her" and I felt safe and loved.

For a long time the Ranch felt only painful. Like looking at an old scrap book, remembering a time of happiness and joy and wondering if it would ever be there again.

I don't remember when the Ranch became important to me again as a place of refuge. I find myself wanting to live there again. Some of it is just nostalgia I suppose. but some of it is so that I can make it a home again, a place where my children can enjoy having fun with their grandchildren. My little toddler/preschool/schoolage/adolescent legs know each part of that "home." I loved playing in the creek, catching tadpoles, riding horses, playing with calves and lambs, catching chickens, drawing houses in the dirt, pretending they were my house when I grew up. Hiking and driving into the hills, climbing trees, catching the bus. Picking apples, chokecherries, sweet peas. Riding in the back of the truck, climbing on the haystacks, chasing animals with sticks and stones. Following sticks as they floated down the creek. Wading.

I know what it is to live and play freely. I want that for my grandchildren.

But, ultimately, home is not about a place. It's about being loved, feeling free, feeling a connection with others you love. It's about feeling "safe." For me, the Ranch was a place where I was surrounded by people who loved me immensely. The same space could mean just the opposite to someone else.

I always thought when I grew older I would love to live in a small 2 bedroom home in town. Like Grandma Pyfers, Grandma McDades, and other old women I knew who always had cookies waiting and were always glad I came by.

One of my nieces told her Mother once that she didn't feel "welcome" in her own home. She was only about 3 at the time and her Mother knew it was about how critical and crabby she (Mom)had been lately.

The house I lived in when I grew up was just pretty ordinary. All of us kids in 2 bedrooms. I never thought once about it not being ok. It didn't matter that it was less than spacious and perfect. In fact, having it that way made it more perfect because we could be closer together. We had to learn to share. We had to touch. We learned to love and grow together.

At my age I am thinking more and more about my Eternal Home. I have wanted to go there all my life. I never feel as welcome as I do when I feel bathed in the "Holy Spirit". I think the place where Jesus lives will be like that, welcoming, loving, full of grace and truth. A sense of belonging. If only we could all go at once so good-byes would not be so hard.