Home

In Mississippi, compasses don’t point toward North. They point toward home.

But the question is, how do you exactly define “home?” Some say it’s where the heart is. Others claim it’s where their mama is. And others will insist it’s where their head hits the pillow every night.  But all will agree, home definitely more than a structure. It’s more than a house. It’s more than an apartment.  It’s the love of something so powerful that it changes the world around us for the better.

Our love of home is like a pebble hitting a still pond.  First there is a splash and then ripples rapidly travel outward. Our love of home is like that pebble; it changes the world around us.  Why? Because we want the best for our home. We buy the latest and best home furnishings. We busily invest time, capital and sweat into home-improvement projects. We work inside and out of our homes to spruce up our surroundings.

As the ripples of love continue to move away from the center, we care for our neighbors and neighborhoods.  Then it travels outward into our cities and towns. We want the best for our local schools. We get involved in our community. We’re active in our city and county governments.  On Friday nights, our hometown pride blossoms during a high school homecoming game. On Sunday mornings, we worship together.

But that homegrown passion doesn’t just stop there. It continues to travel outward, undiminished.  Remember the outpouring of support for the Mississippi Gulf Coast after Katrina?  Mississippians love their home. We don’t like seeing our family members suffer.  Like I like to say, when things get bad, we get good. And don’t even think of muttering, “land mass.”  We’ll quickly remind you that this is not a land mass; it’s our home.

The ripples then head overseas.  The battlefields of history have flowed with the blood of valiant Americans protecting our home.  The ripples even rocket into space. Imagine the moment Neil Armstrong covered the Earth with his thumb. Home never seemed so important than at that moment.

Don’t think the word “home” is important?  Just take a moment and look how we use it:

Homecoming.

Home-cooking.

Homemade.

Homegame.

Homesick.

We’ll be home for Christmas.

Take me home, country road.

Home sweet home.

My wife and I married many years ago and immediately moved to Houston, Texas. After months of being homesick in the Lone Star state, we flew back to Atlanta with Georgia on our minds. For several days, we celebrated Christmas and basked in the love of our families. After the presents were finally unwrapped and the holiday meals eaten, we headed to the airport and flew back to Texas. When our flight landed in Houston, we looked out the window and then at each other. At that moment, we realized we were just glad to be home.  Home was no longer where our parents were. It was the patch of land where we were now growing our new lives together. For nearly twenty years, home has shifted from Texas, to California and now to Mississippi.  Home is where my wife is. And now it’s where my three boys are, too.

I’m blessed to call Mississippi home. We all are. It’s a complex place of both vexing and wonderful extremes. And our love of our home will continue to change it for the better.  I truly believe Dorothy was right, “There is no place like home.”

Now if you will excuse me, I just checked my heart’s compass. I need to head home.