It's funny what makes me feel at home. Without taking you on a panoramic tour of my thoughts, I'd say there's not a lot that delivers the feeling of safety and security for me. An actual house does not deliver that feeling. Our new house is lovely, but I suspect I will always admire it somewhat like a tourist. I've seen too many things disappear from my life to make any material object the resting place of my heart.
Music makes me feel at home.
Music lifts. It beckons. Music reaches deep inside me and tells me there is beauty that transcends every care and sorrow, there is a higher plane.
And lately there is music in our home again. Pure. Sweet. Achingly familiar.
Friends make me feel at home. Yesterday a whole bunch of them came over to help us move furniture and lend their expertise as to the proper way to assemble a table. In case you're worried there was an excess of brainpower for the task, I can assure you they tapped it completely.
Cookies make me feel at home. Or, to be more precise, the feeling there is something good to eat. Something warm. Made with love.
So do candles. My little brother who lives in D.C. sent me this candle from Amish country. It smells divine.
He actually sent me two with the understanding I am to give the second to my sister-in-law. So...I guess will.
Our friends moved the piano into our home. This is the first time in over a month I've had a chance to play it. A piano is a luxury, so I would never say I rely on one in order to feel at home. But knowing it's there makes the house feel warmer.
This morning my family joined me to sing some hymns--between the five of us there are sopranos, altos, and a bass. The sound soars in this house. It fills the air. It is rich, full, and vibrant.
This sounds like home. This feels like home.