Hope and Home

Walking through the familiar door into the place I called home for most of my childhood and teenage years brought contentment and, yet, a sense of conflict.  I knew what stair created the loudest creak.  I knew what seat gave the best view of the TV.  Looking up at night, I knew the shadows on the ceiling before I fell asleep.  This was my home during some of the most influential times of my life.  This was my home that gave birth to great joy, great sorrow, and great love.  This was my home.  And yet, I was a visitor.  For this was my parent’s home.

Pulling up to the house we had left before moving to Switzerland also brought the same kind of conflict.  Walking through the hallway to my boy’s rooms was a walk I could do in my sleep.  Many times, I was half asleep as I made my way into the space of a crying little boy.  The rooms were now empty.  The sounds of laughter and tears were now silent.  It was a familiar place.  It was our first home as a married couple.  And yet, we don’t live there now.  We don’t call this home.

Flying back to Switzerland and walking into our home here brought that familiar feeling of conflict.  This is our home.  We live here now.  Maybe only for now, but this is where our boys go to bed at night.  This is the place my wife returns to after a hard day’s work in a foreign country.  This is where we laugh, cry, and learn to forgive and say, “I’m sorry.”  This is where I wrestle with God and sometimes struggle to continue my journey to seek Him.  This is home.  And yet, I know it will not be for long.

Something about a new year uncovers hope deep within us.  A hope that is always present but gets lost at times within the less essential desires of our day.  It reminds me of a great reflection that I read a few years ago by Fr. James M. Sullivan:

The Year Ahead: The Graces Begin Anew

“Why do we look forward to a New Year?  The perception within ourselves is almost built into us: The New Year will be better than last.  This year I will be happier.  I will be more organized.  I will be thinner!  In truth, this notion of beginning again is built into us and God made us this way so that we would never stop longing for him.

Whatever it is we are wishing for or desiring this New Year, stop for a second a thank God simply for the gift of desire itself, for the theological virtue of hope which shows us the fulfillment of our desire, and for the longing he has placed in our heart that will never be satisfied in this world.

In whatever way the New Year will unfold before us remains a matter of God’s providence.  Our fulfillment of his will rests in what we choose to do.  In the midst of all that, no matter what happens, never stop desiring more- more happiness, more joy, more of him.”

I can’t help but think that the desire for hope we recognize at the beginning of every New Year is somehow tied to our desire for home.

Home is a place that gives us comfort, safety, and love.  A home is a place rooted in hope.  I now realize that this hope can never be wholly fulfilled within four walls and a roof, either here or in the U.S.A.

A popular idiom says, “Home is where the heart is.”  In other words, we all deeply long to be at home; our home is whatever place we long to be.

The trip back to the states during the holiday season rekindled in me a desire for both hope and home.

A desire that can only be fulfilled through the front door of my heart.

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”

– St. Augustine, Confessions

Happy New Year to you and your loved ones.