Sunday, 26 May 2013


I travel a lot.  Not the kind of travel that promotes fun pictures on your wall - although I have done some of that.  The other day someone asked me where I was from.  And that got me thinking.  Where am I from?  I didn't grow up where I was born.  I didn't start my adult life where I grew up.  I moved to another country, and then moved to a different town in said country.  Soon after this, I moved to yet another country.  

I find myself wondering if I have been running away all this time.  Have I been looking for bigger, better things?  Have I achieved any of these things.  Now, whilst Sundays are often spent in church, reflecting the meaning of life and the maker of it, I find myself reflecting too.  

Is it possible that I have been searching for home?  And what defines home?  Is home where you were born, grew up, moved to, moved to or moved to?  Or shall I write that cheesy truth on all my forms, and admit that really, home is where the heart is?

Gorgeous shack (home) from Pips Photography

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