Heart and Home
I woke this morning thinking of heart and home. Yes, the phrase is actually, “hearth and home,” but heart and home are two words that are major themes in my life. I’ve recently learned that I can shape those themes; heart and home don’t have to continue in their time-worn traditions. In fact, both heart and home are worn out.
Hearts are about love but love requires much more than heart symbolism. I can believe I am in love with the added value of an intense heart connection but circumstances may keep me from fulfilling that love the way I want to, or at least in my desired time frame.
Another person’s heart may be torn between two worlds and is ripping from the weight of moving between the two. As much as we would like to be a part of an other’s heart, sometimes we represent a portion of the heart that bleeds. We are powerless to stop the blood flow.
There are times when I grieve for the heart that breaks even as my own feels pummeled.
So I step back from trying to patch up what I can’t fix and focus on the only thing I can fix–my own heart. Simple but not easy, as my 12-step program tells me. After all, many of the puncture wounds are self-inflicted.
This is where the concept of home comes in. As a child, when I was hurt on the playground, I ran home to Mom. As a teenager, exploring the angst of those years, I didn’t exactly run home because that was the source of many grievances, but I knew home was there.
As an adult, I’ve had many homes and they have all been good, nurturing places. Those homes were apartment, townhouse, duplex, three owned suburban houses and a rented urban loft.
When the door closed for the last time on each of those places, it shut with varying degrees of excitement and expectation, as well as sadness and grief.
Why do I continue leaving my homes? There-in lies error thinking. I am actually leaving structures that I’ve called home. I can’t leave my true home anymore than I can leave my mind (although I have tried!). Home is within, the core of me where God and I reside as life partners. Ultimately, when I remember to go home, I am safe, I am comforted, and yes, my heart heals.



In July of 2009, I had an epiphany. For about a month prior, I was emotionally distraught, increasingly depressed and having serious thoughts of drinking again (after 18 years of sobriety).
I struggled to wrap my arms around what could possibly be wrong with me. I had all the trappings of a good life, one others would love to emulate--great job, dream house, traveling for a living, a life mate . . . the list goes on. 





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