Today’s guest post comes courtesy of the delightful, Laura Day Lewis. Raised in the land Bountiful, she now resides on the Lewis “Farm” (complete with tractor, orchard, and some choice apple wallpaper) outside of Boston. She is wife to one, and called “Mom” by 3 boys, 1 girl, and a dog, who can’t get enough of her. As the best hair stylist around, a visit to her chair never fails to produce a snappy cut and color, and is filled with highlights of laughter. She makes a mean key lime pie and is known to always bring treats for the tortourous 30 minute ride home from church (expect for fast Sundays).

I was born in Utah.
Utah was home.
Utah was what I knew.

I had traveled outside of Utah for family vacations. I saw California, Arizona, Mexico, Oregon, Washington, Florida….to name a few. But those other “places” were just vacations, people didn’t really live outside of Utah, DID THEY?

That’s why I could tell you exactly where I stood the day my husband said to me, “I have a job opportunity in Boston, MA….what are your thoughts?”
“My thoughts are…..YOU will be missed!” and I wasn’t kidding.
NEVER ever would I leave Utah. This land is your land, and Utah was MY land.

For some odd reason, I decided to pray about our Boston opportunity…and that was the end of it. I felt this was what we were supposed to do, but ONLY for a short time. THIS would be my two year “mission”. After two years we would return to the promised land.

Boston bound were we, my husband, myself and our two little boys (4 and 2 at the time).
Reggie, the mover, loaded his truck with our belongings and drove them across the country, our family drove us to the airport, bid us farewell through tear filled eyes and off we went.

We arrived in Massachusetts and moved right into our home. Our 100(plus) year old home, I knew NO ONE, church was a 30 minute drive, the humidity was unbearable and not one of our neighbors welcomed us with a plate of warm cookies. How could I endure this foreign land?

With the promise of it being temporary, I pressed on.

Our first week in church was discouraging. The ward was SO small, people dressed in weekday clothes and all these strangers were inviting us to their home for dinner. Now that seemed WEIRD! Everyone spoke too fast, they didn’t pronounce their R’s, and then added R’s where they didn’t belong. My favorite memory was the time I took the kids to the roller rink and they announced pizz-ER and sod-ER would be available at the snack count-A.

UGH. What was wrong with these people?!

After two years in MA. there was no end in sight. My husbands job was secure, we loved our ward and callings. As time passed we eventually grew to love life in Massachusetts. We accepted offers for dinner, got to know more people and eventually started inviting people to OUR home for dinner.

Another baby joined our family and then another…I heard a lot of “God bless you” from neighbors who couldn’t imagine why I’d have “all these kids”. My sons baseball coach made a comment once, he told me I was a “baby machine”. Wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, I decided to take it as one…why not?

 Our neighbors were lots of fun and eventually welcomed us with open arms (still no cookies). We were turning into one of “those” people as we grew a little more comfortable in this land far from home.

Still in the back of my mind, “HOME” was waiting for us in Utah. I was holding out hope that one day soon we’d return. Our time in Boston was coming up on FIVE years. Although we were happy, we had done our time! Prayers were answered and a job offer came in.

We were finally going home!

The movers returned, loaded our belongings in the truck, we were ready to make our trek West. We arrived in July 2006, I took a deep breath in and said THIS is the place! I was HOME! I was with family. I was home near my childhood friends, and home near so many people who shared my beliefs. I had so much fun with my sister every day. Yet, I didn’t feel at HOME!

WHAT happened? This was my dream. I didn’t dare tell my husband. He had heard my plea’s to move back to Utah for the last 60 months. How could I now tell him that this wasn’t what I had wanted after all. I held it in until one night it all came out.

 ”This move doesn’t feel right. I don’t know what to do, but I don’t think we should have moved. I know you must be so tired of my complaints, I’m sorry. But really, I want to move back.”
I waited for his response, worried I’d get the “are you KIDDING ME” response. What he said was, “THANK YOU. I was worried I was the only one who felt this way.”

That night we discussed our options. We would stick it out for a while, and then try to work our way back East. Two months later my husband was laid off from his job in Salt Lake City. Several people felt sorry for us, but we looked at it as an answer to prayers.

We were set to move “HOME” to Boston in the following months. Boston is now our home, it took this whole experience for me to realize home really is where your heart is. Home for me WAS Utah, that’s where my heart was for all my years and then without knowing, my heart grew here on the East coast.

Utah is a wonderful place. We visit there often and  most of our extended family is still living there. Thing is, after we left and then returned it no longer felt like home.

If home is where your heart is, I guess my heart is happiest here in Boston…it’s my land of milk and honey or should I say my land of pizz-ER and sodER.

Where do you consider “HOME” and what makes it home for you? Have you come to love where you are? Have you experienced your own heart transplant?