Coming Home

In the fall of 1998 I came back home from college for the first time. I was a freshman going to school four hours north of everything I’d known. It felt far away enough to start building my own life, but close enough to drive home if I needed to. And that first year I needed to… a lot.

I had SO MANY expectations of what college would look like for me. I envisioned having an effervescent social life with too many friends to count. I thought my roommate would be my best friend and we’d share clothes and laughter and experiences. I dreamed about the way my basketball career would have humble beginnings then through hard work and a surprising amount of skill, I would rise through the ranks until finally becoming the star of my team.

Have you guessed yet that none of these things came to pass?

I didn’t fit in, my roommate and I barely spoke to one another, and my basketball skills were deteriorating. I should also mention that I sprained my ankle walking to the first welcome event on campus.

So back to coming home… It was a lifeline. When it felt like I was an outcast everywhere else, I knew I was welcomed at home. It was a place where people WANTED to see me, were EXCTED to see me. A place full of memories and the kind of pickles I liked. It was my safe haven.

Over the past twenty years my idea of home has shifted. I now have a husband and children and my own house full of new memories and a new favorite brand of pickles.

But the feeling is the same. I walk in the door and know I don’t have to be anyone but myself. My girls run to me with their arms outstretched. There’s nothing quite like coming home. 🏠

P.S. Dave and I wrote “Coming Home” with our friend, Brandon Heath.