Home

I'm sat on my bed, snuggled in my duvet, listening to worship music, and surveying the chaos that my bedroom has become. There is stuff EVERYWHERE. You see, at the end of this week I'm moving house. However I'm not moving house in the conventional sense. I am about to become homeless.

Since leaving my job in March, I haven't been working. To begin with I simply was not well enough. I'm not convinced I'm 100% well enough to be back at work full time or in a high stress environment so have been filling my time with volunteering. Unfortunately volunteering does not bring in an income and because I left my job willingly, I have not been able to claim any benefits. In addition, I thought I'd check out if I would be entitled to housing benefit- because something is better than nothing, right? As has been the story of my life- I am entitled to the bare minimum of housing benefits. £17 a week. Joy! It's similar to the NHS trying to tell me my bursary at uni was £96 a month when my rent was £119 A WEEK.

So yes, I'm moving out of my beautiful house and on to the sofa bed of a dear friend of mine. I have been utterly blessed to have her in my life and I just cannot fathom how much more challenging this would be without her!

Anyway, I should probably get to the point of why I'm typing this. Home. What makes us call somewhere "home"? Yes, I have somewhere to live. Yes, I could live back with my parents. Would I call those places home? Probably not, other than out of habit.

There are lots of cheesy statements relating to what makes a house a home. I don't have to scroll very far down my Instagram or Pinterest feeds to find examples of these. I'm not however sure that I agree with them though. Currently my house is decorated in a very "me" way. While I cannot paint the walls, I have fairy lights hanging, pictures, cute little decorations and Bible verses everywhere. Things that people look at and think "Becca lives here". I don't think, however, that me living in this house, makes it my home. I am taking everything with me- I can put all these things around elsewhere to show people where I live, that doesn't mean I feel at home.

A friend recently went back to her home town for a family wedding. She's very against moving back there when her visa here runs out, but knows she would be able to tolerate it purely because she is surrounded by people who love her, as she is here also. I am inclined to agree. It isn't the building. It isn't the decorations. It's the people who make home feel like home. I know moving back in with my parents won't feel like home. I have 3 very wonderful friends there and I have family there but it's not the same. Here, in this county, I have a support system, I have a church family, I have the best friends and it's familiar. I've lived around here almost 5 years now. The longest I've stayed in one area by choice. I remember walking in to my church back at the end of August 2013 and feeling an overwhelming sense of belonging. No matter how I'm feeling, church is a safe place. It's familiar. It's comforting. I belong.

While I am moving house, I am certainly not leaving home. I will not be homeless, but houseless. My home surrounds me because of the love that is poured out from all the aforementioned sources. It isn't going to be easy not officially having a house, but I know wherever I go, I'll be able to find home. And for that I am thankful.