Home.

I am, slowly but surely, learning what home is.

Home should not be the place where you’re most afraid. Home should not be the place where the most repulsive thought in your mind is to show any semblance of emotion. Home should not be the place where who you are is discouraged or even threatened.

The walls should not echo with angry screams, the sheets should not be painted with bloody handprints, and the air should not be constantly charged with tension. You should not have to feel trapped, terrified, or isolated, whether by external pressure or your own choice. Whatever home is to you, it should never be ruled by fear.

Home should be the place where you feel safe. Home should be the place where you are cherished and free. Home should be abundant in love and acceptance, happy meals and carefree grins, warm embraces and shared burdens.

That is what home should be. For years and years, I considered myself homeless because I had grounded my idea of home in a physical building and a mandatory relationship. But this year, the thought that my home could be found in people electrified my moments. Movie night with my friends: that was home. Late night conversations in my best friend’s closet: that was home. Tears cried and hearts made vulnerable with my teacher: that was home. Passions poured out to my heavenly father: that was home. Those things, those moments, and those people would always be home because it was in those that I found my much-needed rest.

My home will change over time. Even if all those other people disappear, I will always find rest and love in acceptance with my true Father. This knowledge means that I have a home wherever I go, from the tops of mountains to the bottom of valleys. It means that I have a home other than the house that I live in.

Home is a beautiful thing.

I hope, wherever you are, you’ve found your home.

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