Tip of My Iceberg

It’s home. Going back shouldn’t feel so hard.

After two weeks of time away from our routine, spending time together in a way we’ve not done in years, the thought of going back to said routine is a tad overwhelming.

We’d made a niche for ourselves in Santa Rosa. A pattern.

We rested. Walked. Read. Hiked. Explored. Tried mom and pop coffee shops that we loved.

After staying the night with my brother, we arrived at San Francisco International Airport. Not enthused about the four-hour plane trip to Atlanta.

Because it was the first stop. Then the wait–and a delay–and a flight into Little Rock, Arkansas.

When we’d thought through this several months ago, this was the necessary addendum to the end of our getaway. A bit of business after two weeks of relaxing.

At the time, it sounded like a great plan.

I hadn’t counted on what flying this close to home would do to my heart. We got to Atlanta and all I wanted to do was go home.

This from the gal who didn’t want to go back.

Yes, I’m a fickle female who is able to change her mind in a heartbeat. Yes, going back to Orlando means a ridiculously high heat index and back to routine. Yes, I re-enter the realm of expectations rather than the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants experiences that made the last two weeks such a great adventure.

But it’s home. And if I’m heading back that direction, I want to go. Now.

Home can have that affect on me. I love it because it’s the place where family and friends are. It’s where I’ve created a deeper life niche that took time and growth. Where relationships matter. Where I’m known and accepted.

It’s also the place where hard choices have to be made. Where difficult issues can come to roost because life is messy. Where conflict can happen on a regular basis. Where relationships can be prickly and not pretty. Where I’m known—good and bad Dayle.

Home here will always be conflicted. It will be the mix of good but hard. Joyful yet full of pain. Fun but grievous.

Because this really isn’t home.

I think about that more when I leave our place of residence for a while. Moving from my normal to a place of new possibilities always gives me the hope that something will change. Be better. More satisfying.

Here’s the rub–I’m never not in the picture. Change will never be that dramatic as long as I’m part of the equation.

It’s why God has a heaven prepared for His own that is better than we can ever comprehend. My imagination is pretty wild. I regularly speak in hyperbole. I dream in Technicolor.

I’ve got nothing that can even come close.

I’ll be back to Orlando soon enough. Life will resume. Responsibilities will be dealt with, work will be accomplished, people interactions will occur.

I’ll enjoy it. I’ll do my best to live it well.

But heaven? That’s my real home.

And there’s no place like home.