Longing for Home
Dorfrand Blasewitz by Unbekannter Fotograf (Herstellung) (Fotograf) - Deutsche Fotothek, Germany - Public Domain.
Unlike my grandparents’ farm, my childhood home is still standing today. About six months ago, my husband and I bought a home in the same neighborhood, only a seven minute walk away. The home, my childhood home, is situated across from a beautiful park on a lake. As a little kid, I used to step out the front doors and scan across the horizon for all the Canadian geese that would come and rest in the grassy field across the street. I would ride my bike in the parking lot near the baseball diamonds. Every once in a while, when family gathered, we might even play a game, running from base to base as the sand kicked up under our feet. One of my favorite pastimes was walking along the gravel path next to the lake looking for Fool’s Gold. I had a small collection from those lakeside walks and kept my treasures in a box. Although so long ago, those memories feel closer than I would expect.
Now, when I take my dog out for a walk, I inevitably find myself drawn to walk past my old house. I have not yet been able to pass by without shedding tears. There is something about seeing that home that awakens the little girl inside of me. Her eyes open, she weeps tears of mourning for the loss of her family, of her home. It is strange how they are not only my tears; they are hers. We share them.
The other day I was walking alone and went down the sidewalk on the way to that house. The little girl inside of me said, I want to go home. I wept yet again, taking a tender moment to be with that little girl and allow her all those big feelings. Rather than shaming her, feeling embarrassed about it, or trying to move on to other things, I just waited, listened, felt, breathed. It felt good to be allowed this pain and to be able to do that for her. I do not know if that makes any sense to you, but it is beginning to make more sense to me. There are stories in this home, stories that live inside of me. There is a reason I weep so many tears on my simple walk down the street.
My mom sold the home when I graduated from high school. After my parents’ divorce, my dad actually found and purchased a home that was walking distance away. My dad passed away a few years ago and it is strange to walk by his old home. There are memories there as well, but strangely, I do not weep walking by that home as I do by my childhood home, the home in which my parents lived together. That home represents their marriage and their divorce. That home is where I used to feel loved, secure, at peace. That home is where everything fell apart.
It strikes me, walking past my old home, how many things have changed. The person who lives there now took out some bushes and a tree on the side by the neighbor’s yard where my brother and I used to pick berries and throw them like explosive devices, creating an intense game of “who can run the fastest and survive?” While the tree is gone, the cracks in the driveway are still there. I know those cracks so well, having spent hours rollerblading on that semicircle driveway and jumping over them. It is ironic to me how the cracks remain but the signs of life have diminished. What a metaphor. That is how it feels with divorce: life has diminished for your family, but the cracks in the foundations remain and are more visible than ever.
As I continued my walk, tears poured out and I journeyed back to my new “home” as an adult. I wondered, what is home? As I thought about my grandparents’ farmhouse, no longer standing, fresh tears fell. That place of refuge, safety, and warmth that I had loved as a child is no longer here. My grandparents are long gone, but somehow, when their home was torn down I really felt the loss in a different way. Places like that take on an almost sacramental character — physical reminders of the goodness of God. Maybe that answers my question. Maybe home, the one that I seem to constantly ache for, could be defined as the place where the goodness of God remains and dwells forever. Perhaps that is why the little girl inside of me manages to pour forth tears welling up from her heart every time I walk past the childhood home where such love was once felt and foreshadowed.
In any case, I can tell how far I have come on the healing journey. Whereas I used to move away from such free-flowing tears, I now believe the tears are a gift. They are allowing me to bear witness to my inner child and the invitation to soothe her grief by validating the pain and understanding the source of such sadness. Brya Hanan, in her book, Befriending Your Inner Child: A Catholic Approach to Healing and Wholeness writes,
When we are estranged from our inner child, we struggle to be secure adults who feel equipped to befriend what we see and experience in the present. Without consistent experiences of care, protecting, and pursuit in early childhood, it becomes second nature to avoid protecting and pursuing what is sad, lonely, anxious, fearful, scared, or angry within us as adults. We begin to mirror our caregivers in how we show up with ourselves. (p.8)
As I learn to show up for and with myself and to care for and befriend that inner child, I learn how to show up in other ways. I am now married, a mother, and have a home of my own. Now I can co-create with God a new space in which He is welcome and my family feels loved. Will my son one day walk along the sidewalk and weep when he passes his old childhood home? If so, I hope not for sadness, but for the good memories, like on my grandparents’ farm where there was a sense of refuge, safety, and warmth. Thanks be to God for this healing journey which gives me hope that I can create a home where love is felt and Heaven foreshadowed. God, help me create a home that reflects the home you have prepared for us, the home we all long for.
Prayer:
Jesus, come to meet my inner child with your tenderness and love.
From before the very moment I was conceived, you already knew and desired me.
From my very first heart beat, your heart already beat for me.
Throughout the time in my mother’s womb, you held me in your loving gaze.
Because you created me and called me into life.
From the day of my birth, you blessed me.
From the moments of my youngest years, you delighted in me.
From the day I took my first steps, you walked with me.
Because you accompanied me and took interest in me.
During the times in my life that were sorrowful, you wept with me.
During the times in my life that were joyful, you rejoiced with me.
During all my aches and loneliness, you stood by me.
Because you cared for me and loved me.
But I, little one, wounded one, did not always understand or see...
how you created, called, blessed, delighted in, walked with, accompanied, wept with, rejoiced with, stood by, cared for and loved me.
Jesus, open my eyes to see that I am not only wounded, I am beloved. Help my inner child feel safe in your presence. Lead me home to the Father’s embrace.
Amen.
About the Author:
Emily Rochelle graduated from Franciscan University of Steubenville with a Master’s in Catechesis and Evangelization in 2021 and completed a Certificate in Spiritual Direction from Divine Mercy University in 2025. Having experienced her parents’ divorce while she was in elementary school, Emily has a heart of compassion for those who suffer and a deep desire to bring the healing love of Christ into people’s lives. For this purpose, Emily has begun a ministry called “Into the Heart of Mercy,” with the mission of making the merciful love of God known and experienced more deeply through formation, spiritual direction, retreats and resources. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband, adopted son, and pet schnoodle.
Reflection Questions for Small Groups or Individuals:
Are there any particular places that have been “sacramentals” of God’s love for you—places of refuge, safety, warmth?
How do you respond to your own tears—do you welcome them or try to move away from them?
How well do you know and care for your own inner child?
What memories come to mind when you reflect on your childhood home?
Healing happens when we journey together.
If Emily’s reflection resonated with you, check out our guide to grief. If your parents’ divorce or separation left a wound that still aches (whether it happened last month or decades ago), then this free guide was created for you. Grief doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means something deeply important was lost. In these pages, you’ll find a path to grieve with Christ, allowing His love to bring light, healing, and hope into the places that hurt most.
You do not have to carry the darkness alone.
Together, we can walk into the light.