My Latitude is 32.718444061; My Longitude is -83.698615042. That’s where my house is for anyone who cares about such trivia. The important part is “home,” a sense of being home, in the right place. A friend of mine from the past used to pray this prayer:

“Lord, make this a haven where all who may call it home shall find strength for another day’s journey.”

His prayer was full of wisdom about what home should be. In March, I experienced an upheaval of home. We moved from our house of thirty-three years, a city we loved, close friends, a beloved church family, and our child and three grandchildren. That move, 602 miles from our home in Little Rock, Arkansas, to Macon, Georgia, was a physical, spiritual and emotional disruption of life.

At almost midnight, we drove through country roads and up to our new dwelling, greeted by my brother and sister-in-law. Our belongings preceded us, and were impeccably arranged in the house. A decorator’s touch (my sister-in-law) made the house look beautiful. There were garden areas in the front and in the back, lovingly created by my family in Macon and Atlanta. Fresh flowers and flickering candles made the place feel like home. We crawled into our own bed, made with fresh, new sheets, and quickly fell asleep in that new place.

I have yearned in these past few months for my children, my grandchildren, my friends, my church, and for the home we sold in Little Rock. But I have also learned what home really is. For here in this new place, we have found renewed peace and serenity. As always, there was baggage in Little Rock, painful reminders of losses and disappointments. We were able to leave all that behind and start anew.

This is truly “home” now, and for that I am most grateful.

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