Right Here, Right Now, Without Regrets
Someone called me a wanderer the other day, and although it was a joke there is some truth to it. As I write, it is Spring Break, and I have spent the week at three different homes consecutively. It does not seem strange to me until I compare it with other people's breaks where they go home... and do whatever it is people do when they go to that place. When people learn of my background as a missionary kid they often feel compelled to ask me where my home is and, invariably, I respond with something polite. "Oh, well, I don't exactly have a home" or "College has really been like a home for me." These are said blithely, though, more for the sake of the other person. What I really want to do is laugh and cry and shrug helplessly before saying, "If I knew where or what home was don't you think I'd be there?" From the perspective of someone who loves sounds, the word "home" is lovely to say. When spoken properly, the long &q