As Christmas inches nearer and nearer, I am over-the-moon-excited to go home. Because I had an internship in a different state over the summer, I have not stood inside the walls of my house in six months. My heart beats with joy at the thought of being home, spending time with family, seeing my sweet dog, lounging on my favorite couch, spending time in my room and playing the family piano. Of course, I have to get past these infamous finals first.

Our homes provide us with a warm sense of familiarity. Much of that familiarity comes from the recognition of home as a physical space. As I sit here at my desk in Grand Rapids, my mind wanders through my house in California. Since I grew up in this house, I know it like the back of my hand. Every wall, corner, room and piece of furniture is clear in my mind as it reminds me of vivid fond memories.

I was fortunate to grow up in a loving and nurturing place which I know I can always call home. It is a place where I know I am undoubtedly welcomed and wholeheartedly loved. It is a place where I can be unashamedly myself. For me, that means singing at the top of my lungs with my sister, talking to my dog, “trying” to do cartwheels in the living room, eating ice cream at 11:00 p.m. or laughing so hard that I can’t breathe. This is home.

As I’ve grown up, however, my definition of home has changed. Of course, the house with the green roof and the vibrant rose gardens will always be my first home, but it is no longer my only home. I now call Grand Rapids, Michigan my home. In the coming years, I am sure I will have more ‘homes’ to add to the list.

My thoughts have also been more cognizant of the definition of home because millions of people in this world do not have a house or a place to call home. In January of 2015, over five-hundred thousand people were recorded as homeless on a given night in the United States. As of June of 2016, 65.3 million people have been forced from their homes. For these people, the idea or picture of home is likely very different than mine or yours.

Although your home can be a physical space, it must not to be limited to a place. Rather, the idea of home should be viewed as an emotional feeling of security, trust and delight which flows from the inmost places of your heart. You feel at home when you are with the people you love most in this world. You feel at home when there is mutuality in both vulnerability and trust. You feel at home when what you have been searching for is finally found. As Pierce Brown writes,

“Home isn’t where you’re from, it’s where you find light when all grows dark.”

Our definition of home is not dependent on whether or not we have a physical place to call home. Physical homes are extremely important and I do not devalue the lamentable situations of people who are homeless, displaced and refugees. However, home, as cheesy as it may sound, is where the heart is. It doesn’t matter where you call home because home is with you wherever you go. You carry pieces of your story in your heart which come from a sense of home—and those stories and moments never leave you.

Consequently, my challenge for both me and you is to be home to those around us—especially to those who are displaced and without a home. Open up your home and your heart to your neighbor and the stranger. Create environments where anyone can feel like they are in a space where they are truly accepted and deeply valued because, as Cecelia Ahern says,

“Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.”

So, let’s be home to each other. Wouldn’t our world be a much more beautiful place if each of us acted as a home for one another?