I'm on a plane over looking the rocky mountains. It'll be a long day of travel, returning from St. Louis for thanksgiving. It's hard to know if I should say that I'm leaving home, or that I'm heading home. My understanding of home is blurred nowadays. But flying this high over the world puts some things into perspective, as it always seems to do. We say that home is where friends are. But all of my friends are spread out across the country, anyway. They say that home is where family is. But I've come to understand this weekend with my sister being married and my brother shooting up and turning into an adult, that my family's lives change and progress just as quickly as my life does. So home is where I grew up. My dad took me on a tour of two of the seven houses that I lived in as I was growing up, and they've all changed as well. So I can only conclude that home is not a place. Home is not a house or a person or anything that one can see. Home, in its essence is far more allusive than that. Far too allusive, even, for me to understand. I suppose it's comfort, that home is the place in the world where I feel the most comfortable. And, St. Louis, MO is where I feel most comfortable.
But it was a sweet time to spend with everyone. I'm really looking forward to Christmas, when I'll be able to see more people and spend more time with them. For now it's back to the grind, one more week of trying to stay awake in class. The end is in sight, though; only eight more nonstop months. God's going to have to prove faithful one more time with this one. Praise the Lord He is.