As I was driving up to North Carolina, I thought about how much I loved the mountains that were where I began. I hold all these memories of what I call home. I also began to think about what we individually call home.
The house I live in now is where I have lived for 44 years. It is the place where I came home to crash after a horrid day of work. It is where I found comfort and sometimes strife, but either way it was and is home.
It is not my only home. There are two houses in my early years I have no memory of living within their walls. One was the home I came to after being born, and the second one was in Oscoda, Michigan. I have seen pictures of me made at both houses, but I have no memory of them. But I do remember warmly the two-story house on Richland Avenue. I can no longer go into that house, for others call it home now. I can only visit it in my memories. My brothers had lived in many places before I was born.
Home is often the place you remember where you last lived together as a family. Sometimes it is the home where your family still lives, but many times as the children leave home, the parents move into smaller dwellings. It is what families do. It is long past where home places stay within families. My mother grew up in the home her father grew up. My father did not grow up that way. Yet when he was to retire, he wanted to come here to this land that had been his grandparents and he called down home. It drew him like a siren call. My mother was content wherever they lived, but my father dreamed of coming back home. He needed to come home.
But as I was driving to my niece Kelly’s, I realized that home was also with people we love. There is a sense of belonging together that binds us together. I have some friends that I have such a deep bond that when I am with them, I feel like I am home.
Home should be a safe place, a secure place, and a place of love. Some people do not grow up in those kinds of homes; they seem to wander all their lives looking for a place they will be safe, secure, and loved. Some find a new beginning, and some never do. I think they are the saddest people I have ever met.
I also think of places that make me feel safe, secure, and loved. The mountains are home to my soul. I find a peace there that I do not find anywhere else. For some people it is the ocean and others the desert, and there are some that a particular city brings them all those warm feelings.
Home cannot be simply explained. It is as different as there are people. Even people born into the same family may view home differently. It also changes with age. The home I loved when I was seven was not the home loved at twelve or the one, I loved at thirty, and entirely different in my life as I now live alone.
For home is where my memories are kept. I am thankful for the many homes I have loved. I am thankful for the people who make me feel like I am home when I am around them. I am thankful for the love I am given. I am thankful for this life I am living.
I know that as the clock strikes midnight and the new year begins, I will bless my home for I love it, and in doing so I will bless my life.
Who knows where I will be by the end of next year… I know that each day will be a new adventure for all I have to do is step out my door and there will be an adventure to be had. I do know that at the end of each adventure, I will be glad to come home to the place I love deeply.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,
Ever in Christ’s love,
Mary Elizabeth Todd