Where have you been? Where are you going? And why?
I am experiencing a taste of home this weekend as we move into our new house. Funny thing, though, it’s not happening as I step through the front door. Nor when the new locks are installed. It’s not even when our first meal is eaten. In fact, during each of these events, my heart is unfulfilled. A new house promises so much satisfaction. It also comes with false hope. Things still break. Water faucets still leak. Sure there’s also good things. But weeds still grow in the backyard.
Ironically enough, the taste of home doesn’t come from the house at all. Instead, it’s coming from the sound of laughter echoing down the hall. It’s in the friend with a bulging disc in his back stooping low enough to change my locks. It’s in the women that fill our kitchen with hot food and organization. It’s in the friends who change out what I hate most: electrical outlets. The zing of a go-kart zips behind the house. My brother-in-law takes a break to offer rides to tired helpers. The real taste of home whispers through relationships, not four walls.
Three of my best friends laugh their way through transporting heavy boxes from the old house. They’ve never spent time together prior to Saturday. I appreciate their help. But more, I deeply value watching three people I love connect in ways I could only predict. It is beautiful and life-giving. Their laughter makes me long for the day when souls never before introduced will joke together as if they have been waiting for one another. I sigh and listen. Although still at the old house, I now know: A taste of home is serenading me.