I marvel that my children love to come home.

“It’s so good to be home!”

“Yea, we’re home!”

“I just want to go home!”

They all have since the very beginning.

A wondrous thing,

Really.

Astonishing, incredible.

 

In my childhood,

In my youth

In my adulthood

I had thoughts about coming home:

Can someone just turn this car around?–

I want to go back

to wherever I just was.

to whatever I was just doing.

Let my feet take a wrong turn

and go to,

let’s say-

that home.

Over there.

Or there.

Or even there.

 

But

Come home I did.

 

So, what’s up with my kids?

They are not “home bodies.”

They love to be out in the world,

playing, adventuring, exploring.

 

Once in a lifetime

all 8 of us

spent 2 weeks and more than 65 hours in the car together:

eating, laughing, farting, yelling, drinking, vomiting, crying, hitting, smiling, pushing, sleeping,

and did I mention vomiting?

I think it was a glimpse of heaven.

Really, I do.

And Yes

Even then

they were glad to come home.

 

After 71 days of college

the 19 year old just came home for 3 days.

Bounding up the wooden stairs

to the room which wasn’t really his anymore

with its new tenant the 11 year old–

his short, quick stomps

are the sound of his happy feet.

I listen

and think:

He is glad to be home.

It is good to have him come home.

Sunrise near our Conifer, CO home