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“Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave and grow old wanting to get back to.”

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Do you ever feel sad for no reason? Obviously, there is a reason, but you can’t quite put your finger on it and you can’t quite find your smile.

I look out my kitchen window and admire the portrait of spring. Spring is, by far, my favorite time of year. The dormant trees of winter have bloomed with a brilliant green and the grass below creates a beautiful reflection of it. My flowerbeds are speckled with petunias ranging from vivid shades of pink to rich shades of violet and my knockout roses make a dramatic, yet welcoming, statement you can see from a block away. The cardinals and squirrels eat together in harmony beneath my new bird feeder and if I quietly step outside to listen, the sounds of spring make a sweet, sweet melody, and the sun casts a beautiful radiance on it all. I have so much to be thankful for. Why, then, do I feel like Charlie Brown walking around with a single, gloomy rain cloud over my head?

Driving to work one morning last week, I found myself longing for home, but oddly enough, home wasn’t my house. It wasn’t even my mom’s house. ‘Home’ was this beautifully euphoric place that knew no time or space. Favorite feelings from different times in my life surrounded me as I sat there at the stoplight in perfect peace. The memory of playing at the creek as a young girl. Playing kickball with my cousins in the field in front of my house. The feel of my favorite slippers at the end of a long day at work. The belly laughter of my kids when they were little after they quoted something hilarious from Spongebob. Images of my favorite trees. The feeling of a great hug from an old friend. The melody of my favorite hymn sung by my favorite worship leader. It’s a Saturday drive with my husband, windows down, and our dog in the backseat. It’s family vacation and the sound of our five kids laughing together in another room, with the knowledge of how long and difficult it was to achieve the term “blended” in our family. So many beautiful memories make up my “home” and only I know what they truly mean to me.

Home is a physical place, too, of course. It’s where you grew up and where you live now. Home is like Cheers—a place where everybody knows your name. Home is where everyone loves you. It’s where you feel safe and comfortable to be you. It’s a place where everyone knows your quirks and loves you anyway. Home is in the familiar. In a conversation with an old friend, in the taste of your favorite comfort food. Home is where, even at your worst, you belong. Being on point isn’t necessary because home is where you can let down your guard (and your hair.) Some say, “Home is where the heart is,” but in the words of my daughter, “Psh…no. Home is where you can feel ugly and enjoy it.” (I agree with her statement 100%.)

I can take one step back and look at my life and know I am blessed abundantly more than I deserve. Yet, sometimes, just sometimes, I stare at the beauty before me as tiny tears brim my eyes. Lately, there is a constant struggle between holding them back and letting them go. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out why. Then it hit me.

I’ve been a mom over half my life. I beat myself up sometimes because I don’t have a high paying or specialized career like so many women, but the one thing I am experienced in is being a mom. It’s probably the only thing I have truly poured my heart and soul into during my lifetime. Being a mom is good, bad, and ugly. It’s beautiful, joyful, and painful. Motherhood, and all in entails, is what has made me happiest in my life. It’s familiar and comfortable. It’s like home to me.

My kids are my home. And my home is changing.

My son just graduated from high school and is headed off to college soon. Any boy mom can relate, I think. God gives you this perfect little boy who loves you from the minute he lays eyes on you. When you see him, you know God has just given you the one man who will love you unconditionally the rest of your life. Your heart breaks a little when he grows up and no longer wants to cuddle, but you are so excited to see the young man he’s become. My son is handsome, smart, and has a good head on his shoulders. He is a young man now, yet sometimes I still see that little boy, and I have a constant struggle between holding him back and letting him go.

My youngest daughter just turned 15 and the next year will be a journey of teaching her to drive. She’s always been the one to snuggle with me, hug me for no reason, and rolls with the punches more than any person I know, young or old. She isn’t a baby anymore, though. In fact, she is a becoming a beautiful young woman, and I have a constant struggle between holding her back and letting her go.

My oldest daughter. The one who made me a mom. The one who God Himself used to save me from myself. She has had adventure in her soul since she was very young. She has worked hard and overcome obstacles, and now she is on the brink of becoming a college senior. She is a beautiful young woman with an old soul. (Anyone who truly knows her knows this.) She has big, big dreams, and, unfortunately, none of her dreams include staying in the same zip code as me. Deep down, I’ve always known this, and I am excited to see where she goes. Yet, like my tears, I have a constant struggle between holding her back and letting her go.

My bonus daughter starts her senior year of high school and embarks on her year of lasts as a high school student. She is funny and beautiful and, like the other girls, she is growing up quickly. My bonus son, who overcame a tragic car accident last fall, continues to plug through college and work like nothing ever happened. He is handsome and smart and such a fighter to be where he is now compared to where he was last August. We are in a good place, and, again, I struggle between wanting to hold on to what we have now and letting go to see where their future takes them.

But things are changing for all of them, too, and there’s something I want them (and you) to know.

It’s taken a lot of years for me to realize this, but your home is what you make it. YOU. You make it peaceful. You make it wonderful. You get to choose your atmosphere (and your battles.) You get to fill it with happiness and love. (The opposite of all this is also created by you, so make good choices.) You get to choose your traditions. You get to make your own new and beautiful memories.

I struggled for years to make my physical home feel like home because it never quite compared to being at my mom’s and the way I grew up. I was so focused on the past that I was unable to make a new future, or at least a future that truly felt like what I thought home should feel like.

Your physical home will always change unless you’re fortunate enough to put roots down and never have to pull them up. The reality for most of us, however, is the opposite. You grow up and leave your parents. You get married, you change jobs, you move, and, sadly, sometimes you get divorced. Sometimes life changes and it is wonderful and exciting. And other times it just flat sucks.

But what I’ve learned is that ‘home’ is always within you. If you’re feeling lonely or homesick or sad and you just can’t figure out why, search within yourself. Recall the memory of your dad’s hug or long talks with your mom. Look at your life and think about the moments you were at peace, when you were at your happiest. Think about the times that put a smile on your face and made you completely and utterly content. And once you find those memories, hang on to them for dear life.

And then, no matter where you are, you will always find your way back home.

Because home will always be in your heart.