"So, where are you from?"
It's a common enough question. Anyone who meets someone new and continues a conversation for more than a minute or so usually hears it. And I suppose it could be easy enough to answer. But it doesn't always have to be... When you think about it, "Where are you from?" is asking so much more than to simply name a city. To me, those four little words are asking something that goes a lot deeper: Where did you become who you are? Where is your family? Where is it that helped shape you throughout the years? Where is your heart? Where do you call... home?
Where do I call home?
... Montana, and its miles and miles of awe-inspiring land and towering, untouched mountains. Montana is rolling hills leading to a far-off horizon. Montana is the sort of place that has the power to make you stop in your tracks and praise God for His beautiful creation. Montana is where I was born. Montana is where my dad grew up and eventually met my mom. It's where they fell in love. Montana is where much of my family still lives. Montana is Hot Fudge Banana Nut Whips at Dairy Queen with my cousins. It's beading and scrap-booking and causing all sorts of trouble with my aunts. It's winters of snow drifts that reach up to the roof, and it's sunshine reflecting off the creek in the summer. Montana is picking apples at Grandpa Art's, and feeling so cozy by the fire in his log cabin-y house. Montana is big family dinners (and breakfasts, and lunches...) at Grammy's, filled with delicious treats and generations of laughter. Montana is home.
... Delaware, and a perfect little cottage on Indian Street in South Bethany, right across from the ocean. Delaware is countless happy summers with my grandparents. Delaware is splashing in the waves at my beach and walking the boardwalk after our trips to the Royal Treat. It's watching my little cousins stare out at the ocean with stars in their eyes, and knowing exactly how they feel. It's the wonderful fact that the Wiffle Ball Toss and the Teacup Ride at Funland will never get old. Delaware is where I painted my hair pink as a mischievous toddler when my Papa wasn't looking. It's where I gathered sea glass with my Grandmom, and helped her piece together a quilt that she would eventually finish and surprise me with 10 years later. Delaware is their house on Horseshoe Drive, every corner filled with our drawings and pictures from over the years. It's talking in the early mornings over Froot Loops and the humid nights on the screened porch, wishing our visit could last forever. Delaware is where I experienced the true heartache of watching someone you love slip away. But Delaware is also where I learned how to find comfort knowing that they're with Him now, and that I never actually lose the people who are so close to me - not really. Delaware is home.
... Washington, and its bustling Seattle suburb - Issaquah. Issaquah is where I grew up. Issaquah is where I spent 13 years in a sunshine-yellow bedroom in Brookshire on the Plateau. Issaquah is Discovery Elementary, Pine Lake Middle, and Skyline High. Issaquah is 10 years of piano lessons, and it's bike rides through the forest with Mariah, the most lovable and loyal dog a family could ask for. Issaquah is Friday night football games followed by trips to Red Robin for bottomless fries. Issaquah is Saturday nights in Seattle, racing back home to beat curfew. It's cheering on the Mariners with my dad in the Kingdome as they clinched the A.L. West Championship in 1995 (and why I'll never truly be a die-hard Yankees fan, I suppose). Issaquah is curling up on my mom's lap, as she reads to me from The House at Pooh Corner and The Little Witch. It's a pantry wall, with pencil marks that tell the story of Steph and I growing up through the years, and the excitement I had when my mark finally passed hers. It's childhood friends who I can go months without talking to, and it's still like no time has passed at all when we meet for a night of dinner and wine. Issaquah is where I first discovered His saving Grace. Issaquah is my first dance, my first straight A's, my first job, my first car, my first kiss. Issaquah is home.
... Texas, and its Horned Frogs at TCU in Fort Worth. Texas is where I found the independence I thought I was ready for, and soon realized that maybe I wasn't so grown-up after all. Texas opened my eyes and mind to new opinions, and helped me figure out exactly why it is that I believe what I believe. Texas brought me four years of learning - both in the classroom and out of it. It's where I went to my first rodeo, held (but didn't shoot!) my first gun, ate my first chicken-fried steak. Texas is where I spent 2 1/2 years living in the room above the awning at the Theta House in The Greek. Texas is theme parties and formals and tailgates and Spring Breaks. It's where I spent many sleepless nights - studying? Yes, but more important were the nights spent with my friends, laughing into the morning and making memories I wouldn't trade for anything. Texas is where I found the friends who have been with me through some of the happiest, and some of the most daunting, chapters of my life. It's where I finally realized that I could do more than dream big dreams - I could actually make them come true. Texas is where my parents live now, making it pull at my heart even more when I'm away. Texas is home.
... New York, and the city that never sleeps. New York is where I risked it all. New York is where I thought I'd spend a year or two, where I thought I'd just have a little adventure before going back to a "real" life. But New York is the place that captured my heart. New York is where I'm supposed to be. New York is Apostles Church, a community that loves the Lord and this city, and supports and challenges me in my faith. New York is long aimless walks through the Village that always seem to end with cupcakes. It's dates that I swear must have been written for one of my favorite sappy romantic comedies. New York is the advertising and entertainment industries, and the feeling I get every time I see my clients' campaigns lining the streets that makes all the late nights seem like a small price to pay. It's bumping into celebrities on the corner, brunches that last all day, and Broadways shows on a Wednesday, just because we can. New York is dreaming of the day that I can live on Gramercy Park, but loving my cute little apartment because for me, for right now, it's perfect. New York is watching each season's beauty come and go to Central Park. New York is painful, as I make dear friends, and then say goodbye. But New York is also knowing that we'll stay close across the miles and that we still have plenty more adventures in store. New York can be hard, really hard, but New York is worth it. New York is sitting on the East River as I write this, watching dusk settle in and turn the sky a perfect mix of pink, yellow, and blue. New York is home.
P.S. This post is part of a "Blog Carnival." Today, some blogger friends and I all writing something about "home." No other guidelines, just our thoughts on "home" - fun, right? You can find links to the rest of the bloggies at the end of this post, so be sure to check everyone out. Happy reading!
