Home for the Holidays (Heb 11:9a)

NYC 2012

Years ago, I remember my Uncle Bill telling me not to answer the everyday-ordinary question "how are you?" with the reflexive answer "fine." He said that if someone was taking the trouble to ask me a question, the least I could do was give them an honest and well-considered answer. To this day, I can't say "fine," when asked about my general disposition.

Lately, though, people keep asking me if I'm going home for the holidays, and I wish I could pop off with an easy answer. I know it's just conversation. I know they mean well.  They're just being friendly. However, I don't think they realize how difficult that question is for me.

Because I don't know what "home" means.

When they say "home," I think they mean to family. Unless they don't. Maybe they mean to ask "are you going back to Washington?"

Santa's helper, 2012

The main reason I moved this summer was to be closer to family. In that sense, I am going home for the holidays. I've already been down to my sister's, inspected the tree, and dropped off gifts. I'll be travelling Christmas week to see my parents and my brother's family. There will be laughter and tears, wine and chocolate, twinkling lights and tinsel. There will be a baby underfoot for Christmas day; boxes everywhere, movies no one is really watching on TV, and good food in the kitchen. Is "to family" what they mean when they say "home?"

In fact, I have enjoyed quite a lot of fantastic family time in the last few months. I've seen my nephew play basketball and fight pirates. I was at my oldest niece's birthday party. I'm finally comfortable enough in my sister's kitchen to make my own coffee (though she didn't like my brew). I even surprised mom & dad (who are 12 hours away) one weekend - thanks to my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, who helped me with the details. I took my baby niece for doughnuts, and saw my brother's new place. I even got to connect with an aunt and a couple of cousins when they "escaped" to New York for a weekend. I could've seen another aunt and uncle, if he wasn't a straight-through-on-direct-routes type of traveler (or if I didn't have to work Fridays).  So in that sense, I guess I go "home" most weekends.

Ruston, WA, 2011

On the other hand, if by "home" my inquisitive friends mean Washington, the place I lived until just recently, then I'd have to say no. The time I've spent with my family since I moved has been priceless, and I don't regret my decision to get geographically closer. However, I have been feeling remarkably home-sick for the life I left behind. Home is my friends and our traditions. Home is knowing where the best celebrations are, and where to park when I go. Home is Cyndie's bread-pudding, "fruitcake" from the highschool, and half-day-spa-day at the start of break. Home is making cookies with the girls, attending half-a-dozen kids' concerts/recitals/pageants, helping with the Scott family's annual Christmas party. Home is sharing wine and (re)packing for vacation with my "other godmother;" cold December rain, and evergreens everywhere. Home is a murder-mystery on New Year's Eve. So, in that sense, no... I won't be home for the holidays.



Yet, that's not my home anymore.  I moved. So now I need to make new traditions, memories, and friends here, and I am working on it. That's the really ironic part. By asking if I'm going "home" for the holidays, my well-intentioned new friends inadvertently label me an other, an outsider. As if there's somewhere else I belong. The truth is, my home is HERE, where I chose to live. Maybe not in the apartment I'm in now - as I mentioned in an earlier post, it doesn't feel much like a home - but certainly here in this community.

on display outside the the 610 carwash, VA, 2012

Sure, I am alone in an unfamiliar town at a time of year when tradition and togetherness are the most common themes. When I get that "blue Christmas" feeling, though, I remember that the real heart of Christmas is Jesus, Immanuel, God-with-us. I'm not alone. And I'm not without traditions.

I'm thankful that people care enough to ask about my plans. I'm happy to make conversation. I just hope they forgive my momentary confusion, as I try to decide how to answer that tricky question. I guess I'm not going home for the holidays (though I certainly will be traveling). I am home. At least, as much as I can be this side of heaven.

By faith [Abraham] made his home in the promised land, like a stranger in a foreign country...."
  -Hebrews 11:9a