A Prayer for the Home

Mezuzah in Kauai

Mezuzah in Kauai (c) Open Hearted

I became Jewish in the spring of this year.  I’m not an overtly religious person, but I enjoy the spiritual comfort of finding home in a religious framework.  I’d grown up without one and started exploring Judaism after I met my husband.  H is not particularly religious either, but considers himself without a doubt Jewish.

One of my favorite Jewish traditions is the mezuzah a little bit of parchment with prayers written upon it, wrapped up tight inside a small box hung on the doorpost of Jewish homes.  I always feel comforted when I walk by ours, reminded that our home is a blessed one.

The first thing I noticed about this little cottage we’re staying in, in Kauai, was the mezuzah at the door post.  One glance made me feel connected to the people who owned this home and the place.  The words were quite fitting too: “May this home be blessed with peace and tranquility.”

That is exactly what we have found here.


Dream Home

Home.  I’m such a homebody. I love having a place to come back to every day that’s familiar and has touches of our family in each room.  H’s latest painting that he’s working on in the back bedroom.  My notebooks scattered about each and every room.  The small imprints we’ve left on this place, a nick in the door frame a repaired window.

We’re losing our home and it’s thrown me for such a loop.  H and I gave “us” a real shot in this home.  It’s the place where I put a post it note up on the fridge telling him I was ready to get married.  It’s the place he hid my engagement ring for three whole weeks before asking me to marry him in Tuscany. It’s where we fought and cried and laughed our way to get ready to be married.  The place we came home to as husband and wife for the very first time.  And it’s no longer ours.  We’ve rented our place so in a sense it’s never been our place though we’ve lived here four years.  Our landlord is renovating and kicking us to the curb and I didn’t realize how attached I’ve gotten to this place until I’m forced to leave it.

It’s hard being in the in between.  I have no idea what our home will look like two months from now.  Is it in our same neighborhood? Or did we move out of the city? Can we finally get the dog we’ve longed for?  Do we have space or a yard where we can grow things?  Between the then and now it’s hard for me to find any content or stillness.

Sitting in the in between time is the hardest for me.  I hate not knowing.  The truth is though, we will find a new home.  It will be ours when we move into it, and it’s a new place where the next chapter of our lives can unfold.  I try to hone in on the possibilities rather than the worries. It can be so hard to hold onto though.  So tonight instead of thinking too much about it, maybe I’m not ready to be a grown up.  Instead I’ll pull the covers of my quilt around me tight, snuggle into our bed and escape into a good book.  (Maine, it’s excellent.)  For tonight, that’s alright.

Our next home. might not be a our dream home. (Read: cottage nestled in the English countryside, complete with barn and two horses that keep each other company, and maybe a goat and cow also please).  We will make it ours and it shall be.