My Metaphorical Tardis is Better Than Your Mansion

Today I spent time with my grandma and my brother going through her videos in preparation for her move from a nice 4 bedroom home to a 1 bedroom condo. Wisely, she stayed up stairs while we boxed them all up for donation. If I list some of the amazing movies that we donated today, it will just upset me.

I appreciate that we get to spend a lifetime collecting our favorite stories, but I really like that most stories are online nowadays and that a lifetime of movies and music can be carried on a portable magic box. Kind of like tiny little tardises...tardii...

Nick and I were talking about world travel today. It's wonderful to know that you can watch a beautiful movie or listen to a favorite song without hauling all your videos and cassette tapes from place to place. You can live out of a backpack. I have several journals that I filled growing up. Now, I can write in my journal from anywhere there's an online connection.

We are free to make anywhere home. And what is home anyway? I've moved so many times it's ridiculous.

When I was 13, we moved from Centerville to Tremonton. I remember the mountains being different.

Before, I would see the mountains above Centerville and Antelope Island--and I'd feel at home.

Now, I see the mountains just north of Ogden and I feel my heart skip because I know I'm almost home. I took some pictures of the mountains on my drive from Tremonton to Bountiful this past week. (I was in the passenger side...) And there's no way to really capture the beauty of a drive through Utah. There are a thousand pictures I could take.

Here are a few glimpses.

Is it possible that home is infinitely larger than a box? Doctor Who's Tardis is bigger on the inside--and while my generation has inherited a world where many of us may never own a large home--I believe we carry so much more with us. We are able to take our memories, our stories, our music, our conversations, friends--all of it with us. The only things we can't carry with us are the mountains--but their eternal shadows lift my heart and let me know that I'll always have a home wherever I may rest my head.

Today I am grateful for the feeling of home.

And for Utah.