My husband asked me the other day what home meant to me. I asked him if he meant "home" in a figurative or in a literal sense. I answered him from both perspectives. "Home is with you. Home is where my people are," I said. "Home feels safe and comfortable. Home for right now is this house."
At year nine, I think this stint in Arizona is now the longest I have spent in any one state, and it is starting to have that safe, comfortable, predictable feel. It is not that there are not risks, but that I know a little bit more of what to expect. I know that the heat hits quickly, and therefore I need to hydrate early and often. I know to watch out for cacti whose spines have more than once pierced my sin. I almost always put the sunshade in the car when I park, and I know to be careful when touching the steering wheel after the car has sat outside for a while. I know that if I see rain in the forecast, it probably won't be for the whole day, or even come at all. I don't think about when Daylight Savings will hit. I expect beautiful sunrises and sunsets and try to watch out for them. Arizona is a place with which I have a relationship, and as such, I continue to get to know it better and better.
Arizona is not perfect. It is not Eden, but it is home. I enjoy living in Arizona, even with all of its quirks. At year nine, I'm thanking God to be back here and praying to be faithful in this place for as long as He has me here.
