You are my Home

There is a moment when you finally realize that where you call home does not matter; It's what you call home. It's the people around me. It's my family. It's my friends. It's my friends that one day turned into family. It's my sweet memories. It's my struggles. It's my wisdom. It's my faith. It's my growth. All of it. I hold a photo album in my hand and look through all the faces of recent people who have floated into my life and touched my life in either a significant or some tiny way. I look at these faces and know that that is my home here on this earth. Not my street address on a letter. Not a physical house. Not an actual bed that is mine. It's the people that are my home. 

I sit here late at night and wonder about the future. Who will be a part of it? What part of the world will I be in? Who will be by my side? What kind of challenges will the world be wanting me to untangle? Who's lives will I touch? I sit here, in quiet little Barrington and look around at my room which is just screaming high school girl from the photos on the walls to the endless souveneirs on every surface there is. I sit here on my bed and wonder all of this. I'm trying to take this ordinary life I have and make it extraordinary and wander each day if I am doing that...