The smell of home.

The more I leave this country to travel, the more I realize just how much this country is to me.

There’s nothing strange or neo-pagan about it, but when I’m in Texas, I am among the people that are most like me in every way. I am in the place where I was raised. I soak in the smell of broken pine after a storm… the smell of the bald cypresses turning red in the fall, because these odors filled the air that I have used to grow up and become an adult.

So that’s why I love home. I love the smell of asphalt when the rain comes down. I love the sound of the pines brushing the wind. I love the smell of my grandmother’s house. It’s all part of a glorious thing called a sense of belonging and place.

These are all parts of home for me and nowhere I can go can replace them. No amount of adventures can replace it. Having a homeland is a wonderful gift, but it’s all just a dim reflection of how all Christians will finally be in their real home, which is really something to look forward to.