It’s neither here nor there. It’s here, but it’s there.

I look back and I look ahead with longing. I look down at my feet and wonder how far they’ll wander before they land at their next temporary destination.

Home isn’t here. Yet.

I know soon I’ll feel comfortable. The lights will warm, the air grow brisk, and beanies and flannels will come back in season (so I don’t look terribly weird donning them in the summer). The laughter of friends will ring around a table, or a fire, or some other shared experience. I’ll find people to help fill this longing for what I’ve tearfully had to distance myself from. I’ll find peace again.

I’ll come back. Home is there. Still.

I know I’ll feel their arms around me again. I’ll see their smiles and hear their voices, not just through a swirling cold barrier of pixels and ink. Words will have meaning again. I’ll find it in their faces. I’ll find it as I walk into that room for the first time in too long, my eyes wide in awe of its beauty. I’ll find it in the stars again, uncovered by clouds and wisps of light pollution.

Home is up ahead. Waiting.

I’m not merely in between. I’m heading upwards. Where, I cannot say for sure, but I know each day brings with it its own troubles, joys, and lessons. It’s a matter of viewing life through the right perspective, recognizing how God weaves each moment together to paint the story of my life and the world’s. It’s a matter of this being a training ground for the battles to come. It’s a matter of embracing each trial as they come, for they will ultimately prepare me to throw my arms open to the world and sing of my love for Jesus.

And so I’ll make this my home.

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