There are so many things I love about living in Dublin:
*Sunday night house worship
*the weather. seriously.
*Thursday coffee with Amy
*my cute apartment
*public transportation (even though it's not always on time)
*meeting new people (even though it's really hard for me to be brave and talk about why I'm here)
*really good bread. and cheese. and apples...
*my new bike (even though I'm still to chicken to ride it anywhere that requires me to turn across traffic)
But lately, the list of things I miss about Home has been weighing heavy. Maybe the mistake is that I still think of that place as Home. Isn't my home here now? Shouldn't I call Dublin home? The truth is, I never quit calling home Home. Not after I went off to college and my parents moved to St. Louis. Not after I graduated and went all the way to Chile. Not after I came back to finish grad school and got my very first apartment. Not after my parents traded St. Louis for Dallas. Not after I moved into my second apartment with my great friend Jael, and then into a little house, and then back on my own in Fayetteville. I never quit saying things like I'm going home (this weekend/for Christmas/to see my family/etc).
As happy as I am here in Ireland, I really miss Home. A lot. Especially now. My birthday eve (go ahead, roll your eyes) is in 7 minutes. My birthday is in 24 hours and 7 min. Christmas is another 72 hours after that. None of it feels right. There should be lights on all the houses. Salvation Army buckets. Trips to Target. Coffee and shopping with my sisters. Crazy Christmas traffic. Mannheim Steamroller. I miss it all. I miss Home.