This past Sunday morning my daughter was on the floor of our church building drawing the picture above, during one of the songs she asked me, "Do you remember our home in Memphis daddy?"  I shook my head and continued to sing, peering down from time to time as she added the details to her picture of "home."  It was a small house on Sheridan Street, and of course I remember it.  It was our first home, the one in which our family came to be.  Our neighbors, the best, from Mrs. V who grew up on the street and never left to young families whose children cruised the sidewalks.  Mrs V is up into her 80s and she knows nothing else than Sheridan St.  Then there were other families that came and gone.  I mean, I was really impressed with the picture Brynn drew of our Memphis home.  Here is an actual picture of the house when we first bought it.     

We have lived in PA for a little over a year now, and B has made friends and seems to be really adjusting to life here.  However, it isn't home to her!  Home is a little house on Sheridan Street in the city that we loved, where she was born, the world she came to know in Memphis.  We have three red maple trees in our front yard, they are affectionately named Olivia, Elliot, and Sophia.  Personally, I think it is beautiful that B loved that little house, the friends we have, and sometimes I pray that this move is good for the family...and I must admit that moments like this Sunday scare me just a tad!  

However, for most people "home" is simply a place tucked away in the past, it is a nice trip down memory lane.  While there is a nostalgia for home, we rarely get to experience it as it was.  I remember going back to places that I had once completely immersed myself in and being surprised at the changes.  I have visited my high school, my college, and even my home congregation and they are not the same...in fact, I don't think they are supposed to be.  

I remember going back to SomaMemphis when I was visiting last spring, and it had changed so much.  The look had changed, the students had changed, and while there was some familiarity, I realized that it didn't feel like home to me anymore.  That isn't to say I wasn't welcomed and didn't have a good time catching up with people, but my stamp, my imprint, was gone.  Soma moved on as did I, and well...that's life.  

On that same trip I went by our little home on Sheridan, and it has been changed to suit the new owner.  It isn't the same, no longer the Woodall's home.  But guess what, B doesn't need to know!  She can keep our home alive in her mind, in her heart.  She can be creative in her art as she represents what was.  She can name the flippin' trees after whoever she wants because a sense of "home" is important and I am absolutely grateful for our home in Memphis.  I am grateful for our newer, emerging home in Hummelstown.  

I have rambled through some tears as I think about what makes "home" possible...so thank you to those who have been neighbors, family, and friends of the Woodalls.  Home is a sacred space, and wherever you are and whatever you're doing, know that you have a home in the hearts, prayers, and thoughts of the Woodalls.  To God be the praise, for God has saw fit to give us a home with him, and at the end of our journeys through this world we will all gather once again...and we will be HOME!