2.2.12

Enjoy Project | Writing about Home

“i like to see people reunited, 
i like to see people run to each other, 
i like the kissing and the crying, 
i like the impatience, 
the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, 
the ears that aren't big enough, 
the eyes that can't take in all of the change, 
i like the hugging, the bringing together, 
the end of missing someone.” 
jonathan safran foer


I present to you, my blog friends, a paragraph or so about my man.  This very moment he is on the final leg of an 18-hour drive.  We've been apart for 492 hours.  Only six more left.  I've missed him so, I'm ready to be Home:

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"They" say it's like "coming home."  They are right.  (If, of course, home is as wonderful to you as it is to me.)  When I picture home in my heart, flashes of kitchens, noise, fireplaces, dark nights, dad's screeching shoes (he ALWAYS has his sneakers on), mom working on homework with the little kids (or mom doing homework for the little kids), stories about the day, heating up leftovers, turning on the game or an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, and happiness.  Reels of my home's messes flicker past the screen; I know they're there and I'm okay with them.  I know the comfiest chairs and couches, the best view to the TV, dad's end of day laugh and mom's "I have a great story for you" face.  I know the smells of my house.  I love the smells of my house.  If it's nighttime, and I drive up to my home, I see silhouettes going about their life.  In their home.  When I go in, I'll hear noises of consistency, familiarity and belonging.  My eyes will trace lines of comfort.  My people are here.  My things are here.  My heart is here.  My laundry is here.  Home isn't always glowy and it's never been "perfect", but when you first say the word I think "wonderful." 


Falling in love is like coming home.  Except, instead of entering a wooden structure wrapped in insulation and shingles, you enter… you enter… a soul.  But that's not even quite right.  "They" say that too.  "Soul-mates."  But you do.  You open and unlock and sometimes fiddle with the key to a dreaming, silly, precious, real, person heart, built on a foundation made up of Life Lived Thus Far.  


When you walk inside there isn't an entry way with a floral rug, a plant and frames on the wall.  But there is small talk, eye glances and flirting.  Sitting around a real family room, besides a crispy fireplace with feet on the coffee table is the relationship equivalent of that break-through conversation where the good impressions get kicked off and knocked under the couch and you see a head-turning look into a person.  Your mind is happy and curious.  Content, lazy and sparked.  Wanting to simultaneously sit long and conquer the world.  


Soon the making dinner together, doing dishes and just wandering into the kitchen ensues.  Daily, foodie, easy togetherness.  And before you know it, you're home.  Flopping down into the strength of trust at the end of a long day.  Opening the junk closets with a "whelp. it is what it is" attitude… knowing you are loved despite your mess.  Longing to just be there.   There with him.   Glints of security, coziness, laughter, easy going, delight, the blessed future, the blessed past, the blessed everything.  


I long to help him be the best man.  I'll get on my knees and scrub, and stand on ladders and drill, fold and fold and fold, and prepare and create and pour out my heart into him.  Calm his worries, spur his tomorrows, re-tell him promises of old, faithful and sure. Often times we don't even consciously know we have fears and secrets.  We don't even know whats up in the attic.  We aren't hiding it, necessarily, but it's been up there for so long we didn't even know it belonged to us anymore.  But then someone starts going through boxes.  Rearranging, pulling out old memories and unzipping your secrets.  They're in.  They know you.  He knows me. I know him. I know how our hands fit.  I know his smells - after work smell, date night smell, car ride smell.   love how he smells. I'm crazy about his strengths.  I know his messes and weaknesses.  Or at least some of them.  I will learn more someday.  And I'll still love him.  I'll love him because I trust him.  I trust that he can open my closet doors, and look under my couches, and see what is hidden and unpleasant, and get down on his hands and knees to help me.  To love me.  He isn't afraid of what I have to offer.  I'm not afraid either.  Perfect love does cast out fear and welcomes you home.

11 comments:

  1. Aah, Kristin, this is SO beautiful. And warm. And fuzzy. And, just, "Awww." Love the analogy... I'm so happy for you! :)

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  2. Mia took my words. ^ So sweet.

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  3. write more, please. this is so heart warming and beautiful. my heart was doing ohs and ahs on every second sentence. so so lovely. super super wonderful. can't wait till i find my home.

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  4. this is absolutely true. I am amazed that you found words to describe the wordless... that moment of realization, that "inner knowing" that everyone talks about but few can adequately describe. So glad that you found the home-love that our hearts have cried for all these years... the home-love that I have found, too. Continually cherish it. This love is a priceless treasure. <3

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  5. You are quite the writer. So happy for you both...and I can't wait to read more of your writing posts! <3

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  6. this is beautiful, Kristen. you and Caleb are one of the sweetest couples ever...so happy for you both!

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  7. AW! Seriously, Kristen, so beautiful, so sweet. So happy for you two. :)

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  8. the "end" of missing him is over.....he is there now....a calm sweetness is yours again!!!!

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  9. this is so beautiful, and more than that, it's true. which is the best kind of writing there is, true and straight from the heart.

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  10. OK, I'm crying again. So glad he made it home...to you.

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Oh, you've made my day! Thank you for the thoughts and words!