After a long day of traveling, I finally landed on my home ground and walked out into the beautiful Florida night. I hardly have the ability to describe the ecstasy and relief I felt upon seeing my brother pull up in our familiar red Altima. Nor dare I try to explain the peace and joy I felt being once again in the state I love.
Home. There is something sacred in that word, some unidentifiable element that evokes such feeling and emotion in the soul of the one who utters it. To me, it means love. To me, it means sanctuary.
Please, do not misunderstand my meaning. I enjoyed the two weeks I spent in the winter valley of Salt Lake City. I will always cherish the rare and priceless memories I shared with dear friends, family members, and loved ones. I laughed and reminisced with some, cried with others, and learned lessons through it all. I will not soon forget the trip.
But, to be home. To walk the familiar halls of my family's dwelling, and to hear the sounds of those people I love most....it takes my breath away.
You may think me over-dramatic, but then I say you do not know my home. You do not know the souls of those whom I call my family, nor have you sensed the almost holy spirit that dwells within these humble walls. This is my world, my everything. These people have stood with me with unwavering loyalty. These walls have sheltered me through all storms. This place is my fortress. These souls are my greatest allies.
It has only been two days since I came back, yet the peace and happiness I have felt rivals that of all the feelings of the previous two weeks combined.
Truly....there is no place like home.
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