It just slipped out…
by Given Breath
It just slipped out.
“…Well…you know…I’m a Texas girl”. I shrugged meekly, as if that explained everything.
Wow. That was a weird answer to “So, how do you like it here?” posed by a kind stranger standing at my elbow in the check-out line.
I think it had to do with the wind today. Blowing from the west, it whipped our red, blue and lone white star banner, and I sat in the welcome morning sun and watched it with mixed emotions.
The very first thing to happen when we arrived at our farm, overwhelmed with fatigue, emotions and fast-food grime after our three-day trek from Austin, was to hang that darn flag.
Before someone, whose name rhymes with Lim, melted down into a puddle and decided to drive three days back home.
Did I ever say thank you, Bill?
If I am honest, this yearning for another home is ever-present in me and always has been.
Today, I hunger for Texas. But there have been countless times while living in that fair state that I’ve dreamed of another country, city, or culture where I could make my home and be more fulfilled.
If money or other obligations were no consideration, where would you go to call home?
Would you go back to a beloved place, or would you venture forth into the new-slate unknown?
Nothing in this life can possibly be.
There will always something that rudely mars the beauty, disturbs the peace, scuffs up the dream. Children grow, people leave, spouses disappoint, relationships cool, and our acquired stuff and obligations weigh heavy in the too few hours each day.
Even on the best of days, when contentment and rest sit quietly nearby, I stay nostalgic for a home that can’t be attained fully, or recreated completely.
These are good questions for me these days. They slow my thinking, sharpen my senses and quicken my heart’s interest in giving thanks.
This soul-searching naturally ends in thoughts about heaven, my eventual home.
If I take a thoughtful minute, I know this place (and I do believe it will be an actual, physical, tangible place) is what I really seek in my bones…
I’ll write about that next.