pining for "home"

The idea of "home" has been something I have struggled with my whole life. As the daughter of an Air Force Dad, my childhood was spent packing up, setting up and moving around New Zealand and Australia. As frustrating and upsetting as it was at times, I am so grateful for all the sacrifices my parents made to help us with those transitions and the skills and lessons those moves encouraged. However, the constant moving has left me with no real answer to the question I often get asked, "where are you from?". At times I wish my story were different and I had solid roots and affiliations with just one town or city.

When I was 17 and freshly out of high school, I moved back to Australia on my own for a gap year. At the end of that year, I decided to stay on in this lovely country town. With great ambitions to attend university, I worked two jobs and 6 day weeks to earn enough money to become classified as an "independent" in the eyes of the Australian government so I could have some financial assistance whilst I studied. Over the course of the next four-and-a-half years, I moved "homes" on an average of once a year, housemates got married, circumstances changed... a combination of different factors. As a full-time undergraduate, I had no hope in the world of affording somewhere to live on my own so I prayed for new housing opportunities, and God always provided, even if it was at times at the very last minute. Those days were hard. I think because I spent so much of my childhood moving, this constant need to have to find somewhere else to live at the start of my adult life became so much harder. All I ever really wanted during that season was to have one home, a place that I knew I was safe, loved and free to be all that I wanted to be, a place that was my own.

Thankfully, that season is over. Derek and I have established our own physical and mental "home". I no longer have to find a new place to live each year, we get to deal with those things together, and now, in the brink of moving into our own house, we can escape the rental market and have even more control over our circumstances, a welcomed reality.

Yet, this time of year, the wonderfully festive Christmas period, causes me stop, think and contemplate the concept of "home" once more. I love New Zealand. Maybe one day Derek and I will pack up and move over there for a while, for a change of pace. But I am not sure it is really my home any more. It is this holiday season that does, however, make me crave the comforts of a NZ Christmas. The idea of a 30+ degree day in Australia on Christmas is hard to comprehend. As much as I love the warm Summer months, I think I may just be a winter baby. I love the idea of a white Christmas, being holed up inside with a roaring fire, snuggled up in the most comfortable of Winter attire. I cannot remember ever having a Christmas Day that was hot, sweaty  and the sun was out. Christmas in NZ is as close to white Christmas I will get this side of the equator, it's normally raining, we are wearing our track pants and spend the day inside eating, laughing and enjoying one another's company. A huge contrast to Derek's usual Christmas Day routine in Australia.

The last couple of days have had low teen temperatures and icy, ferocious, winds. I am secretly enjoying every moment of it, rugged up inside, playing Christmas carols and embracing all the wonderful Christmas traditions I have come to know and love. It reminds me of my Christmas home. And there's nothing else quite like it.

In just 19 sleeps we will be there again, armed with our winter woollies and bracing for, well, anything. NZ weather is more unpredictable than Victoria, as hard as that may be to believe.

Don't mind me while I pour another cup of steaming tea, grab another blanket and contemplate whether I should put the heater on to warm up our icy house. Through my eyes, this weather really is starting to look a lot like Christmas.