The Strength of Home

Mt Timpanogos

I’ve been thinking for a few weeks now what "going home" really means to me. It wasn’t long ago that we moved from ‘home.’ We moved in August 2007, and we looked at it as an adventure. Utah had been my home for all of my life. I grew up in Provo, and we lived in the same house for 15 years. When I was 15, I thought that my life was over because we were moving. We moved six blocks north of where I grew up to the house that, 14 years later, my parents still live in. When I graduated college I moved an hour and a half north to the town of Ogden for a year of school at Weber State University. I lived in the dorms for most of the year, and then stayed in an apartment with a friend for a couple of months. I loved Ogden. I felt very safe there, and I thought that it was a cute, quaint little town. After one year of classes, I realized that college wasn’t for me. Not then anyway. I think I could go back now and do very well-funny how perspectives change. I moved back to my parents house until Bryan and I got married in September of 1999. We lived a couple of miles from my parents in Orem. After about seven months we bought a home in Springville where we lived for over six years.

Our neighborhood in Springville was ideal - we were close to the school, close to shopping and the freeway and church. Our neighbors were great, we had great friends there. And we were close to my parents (10 minutes away!), close to Bryan’s dad (20 minutes away) and close to Bryan’s mom (45 minutes away.)

We realized early in 2007 though that we were needing to make our home elsewhere. A new job opportunity presented itself, and we felt like we were to jump on it. We sold our house, and made the 800+ mile move in August.

I have had a hard time with the move. I still don’t have really good friends in the area, the kids are making friends but we have to drive to get to most of them. We love the church members and feel welcome in the ward (congregation) here. I even enjoy the weather. The rain doesn’t seem to get to me much here. I did really miss the snow this winter though. Truly, I enjoy Oregon, I just miss the people we left behind in Utah. My family, Bryan’s family and the good friends we made over the years.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the chance to go home. Bryan had a lot of work lined up, and it was spring break so the kids and I packed up the car and drove to Utah.

It was wonderful.

I spent the week taking pictures of home, and trying to soak it all in. I was able to see friends and family that I have missed dreadfully over the last several months. I was able to be inspired by my mother and my in-laws. My parents have a routine and it works for them, and it made me realize that I love the routine (most days!) that Bryan and I have made.

I came home from my week with my family and I realized that the way my mom goes about her day - getting up and starting laundry, making the bed, and cleaning up right after eating - make her day easier, and I have incorporated some of that in my life. I realized that my MIL has photos every where and they are wonderful. They aren’t all portraits so I have made a goal to get some snap-shots that I love printed so I can put them in frames around my house. I realized that my FIL and my father and both have an exceptional drive to provide for their families and such excellent work ethics, and it has made me appreciate all the hard work that Bryan does everyday even more.

Going home is a break from the daily routine. Going home is savoring the little moments with friends. Going home is eating Mexican food, playing Scrabble, taking walks and visiting. Going home is showing my kids where I came from. Going home is giving myself the strength to make it through the next months. I know I wont be able to stay away too long.

What about you? What does going home mean to you?

I have entered this in Scribbit's April Write-Away Contest - Going Home