Dearest Rachel –
I’ve told you before about how I’ve been trying to expand the assortment of music I’m exposed to, if for no other reason than that to dilute the frequency I have to deal with songs that we would have considered ‘ours,’ whether or not they were part of our mix tape collection we would send back and forth to each other, both as indications of our individual tastes and as messages in and of themselves. It’s still difficult to deal with the memories and messages embedded in that music, so I try to reduce the chances of encountering them by tapping into the Apple Music algorithm. But certain genres and time periods make it such that even random chance will bring something up that, while not part of our specific back-and-forth musical exchange, are close enough to the periphery that it still strikes home.
Quite literally, in this particular case.
I was driving the other day, and the following song came up in my feed.
I don’t think it’s one I sent you among those many mix tapes, but it’s certainly not unfamiliar to you, as I was well into Simon and Garfunkel back in the day. And let’s face it; if I had sent it to you, it wouldn’t have been out of place for me to claim that it didn’t feel like ‘home’ to be away from you as we began to count the days until that would no longer have to be that way.
Of course, now that I will never come ‘home’ to your presence, I find myself wondering what it even means to be ‘home’ anymore.
***
The first thing that comes to mind – and I’ve dropped it at least once this year already in my letters to you – is how Robert Frost described it as “a place where, when you have to go there / they have to take you in.” Although, the more I think about it, there is no “have to” about anything like that. Society may think of it as ‘not right,’ but families (the closest unit I can think of to the foundations of what someone would call “home”) disavow other members of the family all the time; there’s no requirement for them to take in someone who they’ve renounced – or who has renounced them. And given the current climate of snowflakes and safe spaces, that sort of behavior seems to be growing ever more common. I’m almost glad you didn’t live to see the breakdown – not that it touches us directly.
So that’s certainly not what home is, at least not in every case. Sure, there are still close, tight-knit families – we each belonged to one, and the idea that they wouldn’t live up to the Frostian ideal at the bare minimum is borderline absurd – but they are ever increasingly becoming the minority in the world we inhabit (or rather, I inhabit, as you’ve moved on to the ultimate family reunion, now, haven’t you?)
***
Which leads to another possibility, although most likely well outside of Paul Simon’s imagination when he wrote his song; the fact that our true home isn’t even here on earth. One day, you and I, and everyone else who is part of the family of God and Jesus Christ will join each other in a new and final home together. As a result, there isn’t really a place here on earth that deserves the title of “home” at all.
In fact, one of our friends uses “Homeward Bound” as her online handle, and I’m pretty sure that this is what she’s referring to by doing so. All of which is perfectly well and good, as we do need to be keeping in mind that whatever we have here, no matter how much we may treasure it, isn’t permanent, any more so than we ourselves are.
But it’s hard to be in that mindset consistently, as this earthly existence is the only one we know. We can’t even get much of a glimpse of understanding about our more permanent residence from those like you, as none of you are able to come back and tell us about it (although it may be debatable as to, even if you could return, whether you could adequately explain it to those of us who haven’t seen and can’t comprehend what it might be like. Even your descriptions might conjure up very different images in our insufficient imaginations). We’re left trying to define home ‘with’ our own limited, earthy understanding of the concept – and even now, I’m trying to figure out what ‘Homeward Bound’ herself might consider to be a suitable home here on earth in the meantime.
***
Since I have no way of bringing back (or conjuring up anew) a love that “lies waiting there for me,” and I’ve no control over when I’ll be permitted to join you in the final home in the great beyond, I have to try build a home here for the time being.
But what does that entail?
The best I can do for now, at least as far as I’m concerned, is along the lines of when someone invites you to “make yourself at home,” even though you’re in what, to you, is a strange place. That is to say, we are meant to make ourselves as comfortable as possible while we are where we are.
…Enjoy all the useless [1:2] days of this useless [1:2] life God has given you ·here on earth [L under the sun; 1:3], because it is ·all you have [L your lot/reward/portion in life]. So enjoy the ·work [toil] you do ·here on earth [L under the sun; 1:3]. Whatever ·work you [L your hand finds to] do, do ·your best [L with all your strength], because you are going to ·the grave [L Sheol], where there is no ·working [or action], no ·planning [or thought], no knowledge, and no wisdom [2:24–26; 3:12–14, 22; 5:18–20; 8:15; C such activities and pleasures are distractions from the meaninglessness of life].
Ecclesiastes 9:9-10, Expanded Bible
As you can see, being comfortable doesn’t mean being lazy; Solomon does speak of working, but also enjoying the work you do (assuming you can). That, I guess, is the best we can do when it comes to making a home out of the world we live in for now.
You might notice, honey, that I left off the first part of verse nine. If you look it up, you’ll understand why. Maybe God will bless me again, and allow that fragment to be a part of my life again to enjoy as well – I certainly hope so – but I have to strike that out until (and if) such time comes.
For now, though, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 
One thought on “What it Means to be Home”