home.

I've been thinking lately about this idea of "home."

Perhaps it's because I feel out of sorts without having a place to really call home, at least not yet.

And then there's that famous Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zero's line that says, "home is wherever I'm with you." And that's true. Home can be a person. Scott is certainly home to me. But so is my mom. And my best friend Kaylie in Grand Rapids, and so many other friends who are spread all across the world.

But home can also be a place.

Oswego was my home for many years, and in some ways it still is.

There's the Fox river that runs through my town, and in the fall theres a certain smell that combines that slow death of summer scent made up of fresh cut grass with the arrival of cold, brisk winter air and falling leaves. It's the smell that made me cry when I came back for fall break after my first few hard months away at college. I cried because it was a familiar thing when nothing else was known. It's home.

Home was also Taylor.

It was Olson hall and room 209 with my little blue couch that saw all of the tears and spilled coffee and sleeping prospective students and 2WO members alike. I cried when I sold that little blue couch. No lie.

In Atlanta I've been on the search for home.

That often has looked like striving.

Striving to make our apartment look a certain way or feel a certain way when you walk through the front door off of fourth street.

It's also looked like striving to cook a meal that I had in Oswego or in Upland. I often become frustrated because it doesn't look like mom's, or it doesn't taste like the coffee Jesslyn made.

A lot of me thought that home would happen when I got a job. And praises (!) I got the job.

I'm interested to see if home happens any more once I get in the routine of work.

But honestly, I think home will happen the more I continue to be at rest, and the more I quit striving and let the messy kitchen happen, or the moments when Scott leans over and says, "let's go do this." And we go.

Confession. I'm not one for trying new things. I like safe. When I do something new It's more pride that convinces me to try it or to be bold, but most of me has no desire to move outside of the box.

One time, Scott asked me to go check out a home being built on the side of the road.

I strongly refused, being fearful that we were not supposed to be there, or that we would be caught.

Scott pulled over the car anyway and we made our way into this new home. It was beautiful and so fun, and is one of my favorite memories from us dating, but I still don't like the new things.

Moving to Atlanta is one of the new things that I have been scared of.

There was a lot of pride involved in saying, "yes! of course I want to move away from all my friends and family and be jobless and not know what is next." I wanted to appear brave..to appear like I could do it all and not be scared.

And when I'm being honest, there have been many days where the easy answer seems like "oh, we should get a puppy, or even worse, oh! we should have a baby"...then I will arrive...then I will have a purpose and something will fill up my days in this new environment.

(disclaimer: we do not have a puppy, nor do we have a baby in any form.)

In this season, I'm learning about what makes up a home.

Home is the environment, certainly. It's warm, open, comfortable and in my case it always contains a coffee maker and multiple blankets.

Home also is made up of people. The people who know you, laugh and cry with you, and don't say, "let me know if I can do anything.." but anticipate the needs you already have and rise to meet them.

Home is also Jesus. And friends, he's reminding me daily of that simple truth.

Home always felt different in different seasons.

I almost made my mom cry the first time I said, "I'm excited to go home to Taylor," after my first summer living in Oswego.

But in every season, home has always been Jesus.

I'm sometimes awful at remembering that, but when I stop...when I actually rest, and stop striving to make this new place feel a certain way, I notice his presence.

I notice his peace, and I am able to remember that even when other places didn't feel like home, Jesus did. And he gave me patience and boldness as I waited for those places to become more home-like.

So, if you want to know how Atlanta is going, here's your answer.

I'm still learning. I still am not completely settled yet, but it's getting there.

What makes up a home to you?

In what ways can you stop striving and learn to rest in this moment?