The small daily joy of this spring has been witnessing two little sparrows make a home of the wreath on my front door. Seeing the nest slowly building up through the chilly winds of March and early April, and then one day peering in to see five tiny speckled eggs. And then, after a week gone away, peering in the nest to see five open beaks. Every time I open the door I am met with squawks from the parents, so I’ve been opting to use the backdoor most days, trying to give the new parents some space.
Nothing could be more apt to tell me this is my new home than to see a little family of birds also deciding it is their home as well. I’ve been in this home, in this city, in this state for a full year now. I felt pretty comfortable here pretty quickly, but having gotten to see a space for a full year really nails down the fact that I actually live here. I know that the hydrangeas bloom a little earlier here than they do in DC, and I love that I know that. On a run with a friend after smelling something intoxicating, she exclaimed, “Oh, the honeysuckles are blooming!” I wasn’t expecting that smell until late May, but now I know they bloom earlier here too. I love learning these slight differences in blooms and seasons, of knowing when to expect the leaves on our trees and when the bareness of winter will take over, all things I now know having been here a full year.
But I know a lot about living in transitional spaces, settling in only to leave. All of college was getting settled and cozy in a dorm room only to pack it all up every May. All things shoved in bins and boxes, only to get pulled out again in August in a different room. Even with the temporary you hang the posters, battle the walls with 3m strips to make it feel like yours. Renting for years in DC taught me the feeling of home, but never fully home.
My first space after college was an English basement that never quite felt like mine. Then it was another apartment an hour’s metro into the city, then 9 months later a mansion on Capitol Hill with four other girls that was definitely home. We were always renting, but it did feel like home for almost three years. Or at least it did until the brutal reminder that it was never fully ours and we had to leave when the owners opted to sell the mansion for a pretty penny. Then the new cozy home also on Capitol Hill that very much felt like it was “ours” as we walked into the empty space, getting to fill it just the way we liked it. It was a good two years there, but moving is part of life, and was part of getting married.
And now, my current house is very home. It was where my feminine decorating style married my husband’s bachelor decorating, and I’ve loved the result that is our marriage and our home. It is by the water, and we have nicknamed it the Lighthouse, because of its many stairs, huge windows, and nautical nods in our decorating. This place most definitely is our home, and is now the home to our little sparrow family. The sparrows will eventually leave. One day they will be fluffy and have wings strong enough to fly from the nest. And it will be empty. Because of my husband’s work, we will move again. It is hard not to think of every house as a liminal space for us, because we know moving is always on the horizon. But I want to hang things on the wall, I want to paint walls, and I want each place to be home for as long as I am there.
I remember as an intern my first summer in DC, living in the English basement, where all of life felt temporary, a fellow intern brought in printed out photos of her family and hung them at her computer. We were only there for a few months; was it worth it? But then I did the same. (Sidenote: that fellow intern became one of my dearest friends, but it was a good lesson in embracing temporary spaces as home.)
We’re not home yet, we never really will be on earth. I think about Paul, moving church to church, place to place — he was always moving. But it seemed he found himself at home amongst the Church, his body of fellow believers. In Philippians 3, he reminds his believers, “But our citizenship is in heaven.” We are forever being pulled between this subsequent home and the feeling of wanting comfort, to be settled, to never move again. Can you imagine the relief if someone told you you’d never have to face packing another box again for the rest of your life? I am a homebody, so this would be a joy to hear. But we are never given that guarantee. Even if you lived in the same house all your life, there is a piece inside of us that knows this world is never what it was supposed to be. It will never be fully home. We will always only ever be renting, the deed to our proverbial house will never be ours.
When I was little, I asked my mom what heaven would be like, picturing the dullness that is being good all the time, imagining the discomfort of gold streets, and the nuisance of angels, harps, and wearing white robes. My mom responded, “You know that feeling after we walk in the door after we’ve been road tripping for weeks, that feeling when I tuck you into your own bed? It will be like that.” Something familiar, a feeling of belonging at last.
But in this life of transition, in a reality that is moving constantly, why settle in? Why hang pictures on the wall, paint rooms, and buy furniture that will only be moved again? Because building comforting spaces in our temporary homes gives us that taste of heaven every time we walk in the door. Feathering the nest gives us a picture of heaven. The comforts of home may be temporary, perhaps even fleeting, but their goodness points beyond themselves to the goodness of another home where there is no decay or heartbreak or fickle landlords. In that eternal home, it won’t take a year before you feel like you belong, and you won’t use 3M strips to hang up posters on the walls. Walking in the door, everything will be as it should be, like entering a home you’ve always known.
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5 responses to “What Moving Taught Me About Heaven”
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Beautiful
Ali, I knew I would enjoy what you wrote because I always do. You have a gift as a writer. I hope some day decide to write a book
Beautiful writing! As you keep writing, you could think about self-publishing through Amazon like Henry did. I love the description of heaven.
Nice…
As someone who is on the cusp of moving for the umpteenth time, this resonated deeply. Thank you for sharing!