It’s been one week since we spent our first night at our new property. Laying in bed in Gipzee, our 5th wheel, listening to the wind and the traffic driving by on the highway that sits 100 feet from me, and wondering when our new house would feel like “our” home.

Home.

A home is not just a place. It’s not only the framing, the drywall or the furniture. It’s an attitude. A behavior. A state of being. And honestly, I didn’t feel like I was there yet. To me, it was our new house, but it didn’t feel like home.

Surrounded by boxes, floor to ceiling. Furniture wrapped in bright pink plastic. No heat. No running water. Three dogs, 19 chickens, 2 children. And here we sat on a property with a house that wasn’t fit for anybody to live in, with 5 cabins that were even in far worse condition. A loafing shed (where the chickens live) that has large holes in the roof letting all the snow and rain inside and the “in your face” wind and cold that wasn’t making the situation better.

Home.

Home was in Sedalia in our beautiful, custom home that was about 85% remodeled and shelves to hold all my belongings. Home was in Sedalia that had 5 working bathrooms, a 3 car garage, pine trees surrounding us, and a dirt road leading to our driveway. Home was where I could stop in the local bakery and they knew me and what I wanted to buy. Or the school I would walk into and get hugs from the absolutely amazing ladies in the front office and I could go room to room and talk to the teachers. Not to mention the bus driver that became a family friend. It was where my daughter would walk 2 properties down and help our neighbors with her horses, have wonderful conversations and where she developed a beautiful relationship with our neighbor and her horses.

We had left our home in a whirlwind that lasted 2 straight weeks, which left little time for goodbyes and enjoying the last moments in our house that became a home over the last 4 1/2 years. Someone else was now filling that place with their furniture, painting over my “happy green” walls in my sitting room and filling the walls with their family photos.

Because of our plans with this house, we can’t unpack and settle in yet. No photos on the wall. No decorating. No moving furniture around until I find the perfect spot for it.

In fact, we get to start tearing things apart. Ripping out walls. Breaking windows. Creating large trash piles. Finding places to put all the “stuff” that was left in the house when we bought it.

It’s time for us to start putting our personal touch on this house. Making it our own. This will take a while, but as we do it, I know each day it will feel more like “home” to all of us.

Finding home shouldn’t be hard. After all, everything that makes a house a home is right here with me. My husband. My kids. My animals. My memories. All the things that bring “home” to a house. So, in reality, I don’t need to be looking any further or any longer.

I have found home. And it’s beautiful. Just like it was in every house we’ve ever lived in. It’s in the laughter. The hugs. The conversations. The kindness. The retelling of memories.

It’s in us. Finding home showed me that home is always right here. I just need to stop looking behind trying to stay in places that I no longer can stay.

This new adventure is amazing and exciting and I am looking forward to what’s ahead of us. New community. New friends. New surroundings. New routines.

Even among the stacks of boxes, our plastic wrapped dressers, leaking roofs, and “in your face” wind. I have found my home.

Now, to make more memories. To meet new friends. To create new routines. Learning to embrace the now instead of looking back to the past. Welcome home!