Home is where the heart is, but what happens when you leave your home? Is your heart supposed to stay at the place that had been its shelter for so long?

The chilly November air quiets my soul and leads me to reflect on the thoughts of home and its impact on my life. All this thinking concludes what I had begun to think was true. I wasn't sure where my heart was if the quote I began this post with is true. A sense of place is important in my life, I long for the sense of home; rootedness, beauty, and family. But my heart is still in the place I can no longer call my home.

I long for its quiet meadows, bubbling streams, and the laughing filled meals around the dining room table. If I close my eyes and make myself forget the last few years, then I can imagine that I am back on our beloved farm. The smell of freshly baked bread still hangs in the air as Mom and a few of the girls bustled around the kitchen getting dinner ready. I can feel the stinging cold's imprint on my cheek from the sharp winds of the winter as I would come in from doing the evening barn work. But with a deep sigh my eyes open, I realize that this is just a dream.

And I ache for my farm to be back in our possesion. To claim its land for generations to come.

Maybe a new place can be found in the heart for a new home. It will never be the same but it might make a difference. With that final thought, my trust deepens in knowing that this world is not our home.