Week 5: Thinking of Home

 All good things must come to an end, right? 

Our time in Europe is coming to a close and with it come mixed emotions. If you had asked me a couple of  weeks ago how I felt about leaving, I would have been disappointed, lamenting all that there was still left to do. However, after several more excursions (Vienna and Prague were two recent highlights), I feel a contentment at having spent so much time here. The idea of going home comes with a happy sigh of relief. 

I have a new appreciation for the concept of "home." A long time ago, I discovered that home is less of a physical location, and more of a sensation. Home is family, but it is also familiarity. Here in Germany, I have encountered the feeling of "home" in various ways, despite being so far from it physically. 

Home can be language. Surrounded by an unfamiliar tongue is initially surprising and disorienting; it puts into perspective the many differences between cultures and countries. I watch a small child on the bus chatter in easy German to his school mate, and I marvel at the way we naturally learn languages. I'll hear the hint of a romance language, like from an Italian vendor, and get excited because even that feels more familiar. I really feel the rush of "home" when I recognize Spanish being spoken. On our first Sunday in Bonn, Grace and I celebrated Pentecost in a gorgeous German basilica - one of the oldest in the country. Before Mass, a woman approached me, having recognized the mantilla I was wearing, and began talking with me in Spanish. I cannot describe the way my spirit lifted as I got to share a conversation with Maria Elena, who reminded me so much of my own grandmother far away. She was warm and shared stories and advice, leaving me with a hug that further solidified the feeling of home. I felt so at peace and so safe, even though she was barely more than a stranger. Naturally, the same goes for meeting English speakers! In our excursions to more tourist-y spots in Europe, we've come across a variety of visitors from abroad. This past weekend in Prague, my friends and I encountered a group from Newcastle, England at an Irish Pub we went to for dinner. Though they spoke our same language, their accents were entirely different and hilarious to converse with. We learned that they have a very different understanding of July 4th and were quick to correct them, too. Finding fellow English-speaking travelers makes it fun to be a tourist in the middle of a foreign city. 

Home feels like rest. It's the space where you can sit down and release a big exhale after a full day of adventure or learning. I remember the first day I felt this as we took the bus home from class, and I looked forward to going "home to Mutter." It was still an unfamiliar house and new host mom, but it quickly became a reset base where we could put on comfy clothes, lay down, and relax. I am very grateful to Mutter in her role as our host, too, for she played a key part in making the place a home. She shared dinner with us, always cooking plenty for the four of us, and would sit and listen to our days as she offered ideas for our weekend travels or nights out. When I returned from Rome with some mild injuries, she took care of me like I was home with my own mom. She had arnica for me, bought me straws and soft dinner foods to eat, and checked the progress of my scrapes every morning with an approving nod. I felt cared for and safe in my home in Bonn, and I will remember it very fondly. 

Home is faith. I have an incredible new appreciation for the truth behind the "universal Catholic Church." A priest told me once that wherever you go in the world, you'll always have a home in the Church. It has been such an incredible joy to understand this so personally now. We have traveled all over Germany and neighboring countries, and in each I have been witness to the majesty of the faith. Cathedrals adorn every city we visit, gilded and quiet and beckoning. Grace has been such a gift to explore this journey with as we share our faith and thus the desire to celebrate the Sacraments while abroad. We've gone to Mass in nearly every city we visit, moved by the architecture, mystery, and witnesses of faith from so many different people. On one trip back home to Bonn, we flew into Cologne airport in time for Sunday evening Mass at the gorgeous cathedral. I remember walking in with our enormous backpacks, exhausted from the day of traveling, and heaving the greatest sigh of relief. I already felt safe and at home, just by walking into the church. While the Mass was in pure German, the Sacrament was fundamentally familiar. The towering columns of the cathedral echoed words that had been spoken there for hundreds of years, and the stained glass bathed us in the warmth of an embrace. There doesn't seem a way to describe the sensation of "home" that lies rooted in our spirit, but it continuously affirms to me the indelible mark on our souls for our one true Home. 

As my return home to my family draws closer, I reflect with gratitude on all the ways I have been gifted the opportunity to feel at home here. I have learned countless lessons, traveled to the most beautiful places, and beheld my faith in so many new ways. 

Perhaps good things don't come to an end, but simply transition into new beginnings.