What is Home?

I have learned at many junctures in my life that interim periods are not easy. As it turns out, instability, uncertainty, change, standing in a road that disappears a few feet in front of you with no clear direction, these are not things that human beings deal well with. That being said, they are things that human beings need and are the very things (according to John O Donohue) that can cause the most amount of growth in us. 

I feel like I have been living in almost a yearlong interim time. I applied for a position with the General Board of Global Ministries in early February, got an initial response in March, interviewed in April, got approval to move forward with medical clearance on Memorial Day and the final approval letter on June 29^th. I finished working at the church at the end of November and don't leave until the end of January. And these past 9 months has a painful discernment period in which I had to decide if I was really supposed to uproot one life I loved so dearly for another one that I had dreamed about for 10 years.  Suffice to say the tears have flowed freely on many days and I have often wondered what is so great about being the courageous brave person anyway. Some days (like today as I face an entire house that needs to be packed up when it feels like I just moved in) I really think that being comfortable might have been the better option. But I know (I hope) that feeling will pass.

In August, when I was just getting used to the idea of leaving, Harvey comes and goes, wrecking havoc on the city and taking my childhood home with it- the walls that witnessed my physical birth and every important milestone of my childhood; the front door that I was certain would continue to welcome me home from Brazil just like it has on every other trip I have taken, softly whispering, “its good to have you back. I’ve been waiting for you.” Mom and dad didn’t want to rebuild at their age and they were very fortunate to be in a position where they could in fact move to a new home. For that I am very grateful. But at the time, I couldn’t exactly express why I just couldn’t stop crying in those first few days after the storm. It’s just a house. It’s just material goods. Everyone is safe. It could have been worse. All true facts (although perhaps not the most helpful facts when your parents are left mucking through and throwing out 40 years of memories). All I knew was that my anchor of knowing exactly where home was that had allowed me to fly free for so many years had been cut off and I felt like I was flailing. Where is my home now if not on Penelope Dr.?  Had the storm happened when I was not about to move to the other side of the world, I think it would have been easier, but alas, timing is nothing if not ironic.

As I processed through this question of, “where is home now for me?” I continually remembered the cliché saying “home is where the heart is“ (I hate it when cliché sayings turn out to be true.) And in those first few weeks of seeing the bare bones of the house with its pulled up floors and the non-existent walls, I would stand in the living room and close my eyes and start to remember what the house looked like as a child. The sound of the back door closing when dad came home from work, all the ways I loved to rearrange my pink bedroom and twin sized day bed, the living room where my sister and I and all our friends would make up dances and have sleepovers, the old brown corduroy type couch where I would find my dad sitting as he played the 1812 overture to get us out of bed whenever we had company over. As I mentally walked through each room of the house, I smiled and laughed and cried and grieved, and then I realized, no matter where home is for me moving forward, no matter what door welcomes me back from Brazil, no one will ever be able to take those memories away from me. They are mine. They are home for me now. And I will carry them with me inside of me and that sacred and safe place will live tucked away in my heart for the day when I find myself on the other side of the world with no idea where I am going, feeling a little lost and flailing about. And I will remember that the question to ask is not necessarily “where is home?” anymore but “what is home?” And that is a little bit easier to answer.

When I left Brazil in 2013 to come home from internship, I came across this quotation from Oriah Mountain Dreamer that could not have been more perfect for me then, and I think even more so now…

“This is what home is: not only the place you remember but the place that remembers you, even if you have never been there before, the place that holds some essential piece of you in trust, waiting for you to return when you go out into other places in the world, as you must.”

May this essential piece of me be held well until we meet again…

           

On Herbs and Holy Saturday

It started out as a few store bought plants. I bought them in early February as a pre-birthday gift to myself to enjoy on my back porch. Herbs that I hoped would one day add flavor to food eaten around the table with people I love. And yet while they haven't yet made it to the kitchen, they have taught me a lot, these herbs. They have taught me that I don't have to be in control of things for life to happen. I don't have to force it. There is much that is, in fact, up to me- I make sure they are watered every day (which has been no small task for me to remember) and make sure they get just enough but not too much sunlight. But there is so much that isn't up to me. That may even happen in spite of me. And I have realized coming out to check on these plants every day that that is what you call grace. That it doesn't all depend on us. Life is renewed and beauty comes from dirt. Hope is persistent and flowers blooms when you least expect it. Many days they look the same as the day before but oh those days where you come out to see that a new stalk has sprung up seemingly over night or that a flower has bloomed that you didn't see coming! Who knew cilantro made pretty white flowers? Many times I have found myself laughing at loud on those mornings. Laughing at myself, that I still find it amazing that Mother Nature knows what she is doing without me telling her. 

Gazing at these beauties as I lay in my hammock this morning, I thought for a brief moment I would love to have a time lapse camera to see how fast they are growing. To see their progress. But I realize this is me wanting to control them. This is me being uncomfortable with things I don't understand. This is me being impatient and trying to force the process. So I let go and simply appreciate their beauty. I simply trust that they will continue to grow even if I don't understand how. I will allow myself to be surprised by the newness with which they greet me every morning. I will continue to trust in grace. 

Today is Holy Saturday, which is what we might call an in between time. A time of waiting, which has never been my strong suit. A time where, in the words of John O'Donohue, "the old is not old enough to have died away and the new is still too young to be born." It is a time of acknowledging that some things are out of our control and we just have to wait them out while trusting that just because we are being still, doesn't mean God is still. Because God is always there, even in the tomb, working new life out of death, bringing redemption out of betrayal, promising us that this isn't the end of the story. 

So wherever you are today, whatever season of life or in between time you may be in, may you be able to let go and trust that you don't have to work so hard for life to happen. You can do your part but you don't have to do all the parts. Answers will come when they are meant to come. Growth will happen when it's meant to happen. And we don't have to fight. We don't have to control or plan or worry or work our way to Sunday. It will come no matter what. All we have to do is wait. To rest. To let go and let God do what God does best- create new life out of the dirt. 

Happy Holy Saturday...

Ps. Do yourself a favor and go buy some herbs. They will amaze you...