I’ll save you the suspense:


No matter where I am, I eventually want to go home. I crave home. It’s where I’m most comfortable. It truly is, and please pardon the cliche, where my heart is. The thought of it can sometimes take me to tears. It is deeply, deeply good. front-door

It’s an ethereal thing, home. On one level, it’s wherever Mike is. But then, after about eight days in Italy, even having him with me, I was ready to come home. It’s not just my house, though. Right now, I’m about five hours beyond leaving my parents’ house, which I also consider home. On the comfortableness scale, my own house and that of my parents rate equally. Carroll County is home to me in a way that I’m not sure anywhere else will ever be.

Like all things that are deeply good, the root of this lies in my eternal home. I think of my grandmother, who spent the last part of her life in a nursing home telling my mom that she wanted to go “home.” Knowing she couldn’t live by herself anymore, mom realized she wanted to go where my grandfather was – home – Heaven. That’s the heart of home.