Home

Home sweet home. There is nothing like traveling to give you a greater appreciation for your home. We have been gone for 7 weeks visiting family across the United States, and we had a great time! The only thing that was slightly troubling was the question Peter asked me just about every night as I tucked him into bed. He would turn to me wondering if we could go back to "Peter's house" sometimes with tears in his eyes. This question always came as a shock. What on earth would drive him to want to go home after the incredibly fun day we had just had? He had laughed himself silly, played himself speechless and had way more fun than anything we had done at home. Nonetheless, every night as we put his little pj's on, he would turn to me again and ask, "Mommy, when can we go home?" There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Peter enjoyed himself to the fullest rough housing with uncles, playing with cousins, parading with grandparents, and loving on his aunts. He had a blast, but somehow he kept his home in the back of his mind as the place where he truly belonged. At first this question came as an offense to me, how could he possibly ask that when he was having so much fun, but after seven weeks of it, it came more as a lesson to me. They say "home is where your heart is." There's no doubt where Pete's is, but where is mine? I say my home is in Heaven and I'm just passing through, but where's my heart?