Today....just a stream of thought about home.
Books and movies I cherish wrap the setting or theme around home. ( I turn up Phil Phillips Home loudly and sing along.)
Home is a drawing force to me, but for others it is the place they seem to be running from. A place of refuge but maybe a desperate place to leave or forced to leave. In all, it seems to be a birthplace of great emotion---emotions that span a lifetime that we hold close and that influence who we are, what we become, how we become, and what we think.
I am inclined to think that this emotion of being drawn to home was ordained from the beginning of time. We are both called to run home at times like running to base in hide and seek and also to be able to move away knowing the light is still shining from the safe harbor. It is a place already established but that is also being created with our own hearts and souls and hands. We are both at times a native and a stranger at home, an alien within our own land. This longing for a place to call home is central to who we are because we are both home here on earth but not quite home yet. The restless drawing of us toward home is fused to each of us to find our way back to the One that gave us this longing.
It is the place you are loved and accepted but surely challenged by others that force you to live a real, authentic, and abundant life with your messy work boots on but that also lets you dream so that you soar like an arrow but just a little higher than the current target. It is the place for honest answers and soft responses and where people learn to hone the difference. It isn't a perfect place and that is perhaps what also draws us there. It is a place where perfection isn't expected and all the answers are not known, but it is a place where we are just perfect the way we are to others. It is where we sure wish others would give us some answers, where sometimes they give us more than we really want, and where amidst all this we alone have to choose the launching pad.
It is the place of sharing space, of being disturbed, of being awaken by others, of being out of milk or bread, of friends spending the night, of the obligatory parties our parents made us attend, of the yard we mowed, of the room and bathroom we had to clean, of the corner we threw all our belongings, of the street we parked our car, of the walls we hid behind to cry, of the ceiling we challenged ourselves to touch, of the bike we parked where others were trying to walk, of the wiffle ball game, of the game of catch, of birthday candles blown, of the slide and swing set, of the popsicles in the backyard, of hide and seek with the neighbors, of the tv shows in the a/c on hot summer days, of the homework completed at the counter, of the temperature taken and medicine given, of the money given, of the car loaned, of the family vacation, of the sitting around with nothing to do, of the drive-in trip, of the Christmas movies, of the letting go of a beloved furry friend, of the coming to after a year at college, of the favorite birthday dinner, of riding bikes without holding on to handle bars, of attending a parent's work picnic, of practicing piano, of the family pictures, of the reunions at holidays and birthdays, of the same stories shared again and again, of the card games, of the favorite recipes, of softly settling tears wiped away, of screaming our thoughts, of forgiving for offenses we wouldn't dare try with others beyond those walls, of sincere thankfulness, of staring at the ceiling and wondering, of pitching the tent in the back yard, of riding the horse or the big dog if you don't have a horse, of writing a horse on your Christmas list for 5 years in a row, of waiting for your friend to come out and play, of finding an adventure with your friend, of popcorn and a movie, of being crabby for reasons you won't explain, of playing Marco-Polo, of wanting to give kids more than you had, of working to build relationships in new ways every day, of offering the last cookie to another, of a trip to McDonalds to share a cone or Steak N Shake for a half price milkshake, of a quiet Sunday drive, of enduring listening to Harry Chapin in the car to liking him when you are older, of wishing a birthday card would come in the mail, of entertaining Grandma and Grandpa, of playing hard on the court and field, of cheering loudly from a distance, of coaching delicately from the car, of wedding plans, of leaving and coming back, of really loud music and being told to turn it down, of waiting for the school bus, of parent teacher conferences, of being compared to sisters and brothers, of playing basketball in the rain, of not flushing the toilet, of screaming at brothers that drink from the milk jug, of rooms that become too quiet, of dust collected on games of Monopoly and Clue, of pools green from not being swam in much, of boxes from kids to sort through, of hand me downs, of piles of laundry that lessen with days gone by, of childhood inventions, of duck tape solutions, of our stuff, of...
Why is it such a drawing force? Whether we are running to it or away, it holds us. Is it because it is the place that comforts us? Is it our ground zero? Is it our common ground? Is it our base? Is it the known and expected? Is it where we know we can handle the unexpected? Is it where the love we have to give is accepted? Is it where we first learn the horrible and terrible of life and realize we can survive both? Is it the good and the bad? Is it the striving without being judged for wrong steps? Is it the harbor for the heart and soul and mind?
It is both the sacred novel written and the one still to be written!
Books and movies I cherish wrap the setting or theme around home. ( I turn up Phil Phillips Home loudly and sing along.)
Home is a drawing force to me, but for others it is the place they seem to be running from. A place of refuge but maybe a desperate place to leave or forced to leave. In all, it seems to be a birthplace of great emotion---emotions that span a lifetime that we hold close and that influence who we are, what we become, how we become, and what we think.
I am inclined to think that this emotion of being drawn to home was ordained from the beginning of time. We are both called to run home at times like running to base in hide and seek and also to be able to move away knowing the light is still shining from the safe harbor. It is a place already established but that is also being created with our own hearts and souls and hands. We are both at times a native and a stranger at home, an alien within our own land. This longing for a place to call home is central to who we are because we are both home here on earth but not quite home yet. The restless drawing of us toward home is fused to each of us to find our way back to the One that gave us this longing.
It is the place you are loved and accepted but surely challenged by others that force you to live a real, authentic, and abundant life with your messy work boots on but that also lets you dream so that you soar like an arrow but just a little higher than the current target. It is the place for honest answers and soft responses and where people learn to hone the difference. It isn't a perfect place and that is perhaps what also draws us there. It is a place where perfection isn't expected and all the answers are not known, but it is a place where we are just perfect the way we are to others. It is where we sure wish others would give us some answers, where sometimes they give us more than we really want, and where amidst all this we alone have to choose the launching pad.
It is the place of sharing space, of being disturbed, of being awaken by others, of being out of milk or bread, of friends spending the night, of the obligatory parties our parents made us attend, of the yard we mowed, of the room and bathroom we had to clean, of the corner we threw all our belongings, of the street we parked our car, of the walls we hid behind to cry, of the ceiling we challenged ourselves to touch, of the bike we parked where others were trying to walk, of the wiffle ball game, of the game of catch, of birthday candles blown, of the slide and swing set, of the popsicles in the backyard, of hide and seek with the neighbors, of the tv shows in the a/c on hot summer days, of the homework completed at the counter, of the temperature taken and medicine given, of the money given, of the car loaned, of the family vacation, of the sitting around with nothing to do, of the drive-in trip, of the Christmas movies, of the letting go of a beloved furry friend, of the coming to after a year at college, of the favorite birthday dinner, of riding bikes without holding on to handle bars, of attending a parent's work picnic, of practicing piano, of the family pictures, of the reunions at holidays and birthdays, of the same stories shared again and again, of the card games, of the favorite recipes, of softly settling tears wiped away, of screaming our thoughts, of forgiving for offenses we wouldn't dare try with others beyond those walls, of sincere thankfulness, of staring at the ceiling and wondering, of pitching the tent in the back yard, of riding the horse or the big dog if you don't have a horse, of writing a horse on your Christmas list for 5 years in a row, of waiting for your friend to come out and play, of finding an adventure with your friend, of popcorn and a movie, of being crabby for reasons you won't explain, of playing Marco-Polo, of wanting to give kids more than you had, of working to build relationships in new ways every day, of offering the last cookie to another, of a trip to McDonalds to share a cone or Steak N Shake for a half price milkshake, of a quiet Sunday drive, of enduring listening to Harry Chapin in the car to liking him when you are older, of wishing a birthday card would come in the mail, of entertaining Grandma and Grandpa, of playing hard on the court and field, of cheering loudly from a distance, of coaching delicately from the car, of wedding plans, of leaving and coming back, of really loud music and being told to turn it down, of waiting for the school bus, of parent teacher conferences, of being compared to sisters and brothers, of playing basketball in the rain, of not flushing the toilet, of screaming at brothers that drink from the milk jug, of rooms that become too quiet, of dust collected on games of Monopoly and Clue, of pools green from not being swam in much, of boxes from kids to sort through, of hand me downs, of piles of laundry that lessen with days gone by, of childhood inventions, of duck tape solutions, of our stuff, of...
Why is it such a drawing force? Whether we are running to it or away, it holds us. Is it because it is the place that comforts us? Is it our ground zero? Is it our common ground? Is it our base? Is it the known and expected? Is it where we know we can handle the unexpected? Is it where the love we have to give is accepted? Is it where we first learn the horrible and terrible of life and realize we can survive both? Is it the good and the bad? Is it the striving without being judged for wrong steps? Is it the harbor for the heart and soul and mind?
It is both the sacred novel written and the one still to be written!
Comments
But, then there is the home of which you speak, the place that cradled us into being and set us on our way as we were filled by our first dreams, nightmares, memories. This 'home' seems to be what cradles the home within. It is vital to whether or not we shrink and wither from life or bloom into it and continue to unfold. Maybe we are too complex for such an analogy. Maybe not. I agree with you that it is a place of deep influence. It is probably the single most important influence upon our lives as it seems there that the outcome of the story of the rest of our life depends upon returning to this place - not necessarily physically.
Maybe this is what draws us back and makes us run away at the same time like a frantic rabbit. For I believe that it is in the arms of this first cradle, first home, that we learned to love ourselves well or not. Mostly not. It is there that we need to return to forgive and to heal, to hold our dreams, nightmares and memories tenderly, all of them. I am not speaking of forgiving our parents, our friends, our siblings, our teachers, or any other important influence, but to generously forgive ourselves. We seemed to blame ourselves as children for everything. It does not matter if we even know what we are forgiving ourselves for. Mostly it is for feeling bad about ourselves. And it is in letting go of feeling bad about ourselves that we are set free. Funny how we don't know we are caught in a trap like a wolf and keep trying to chew our leg off to get free. When I forgive myself, the steel girders dissolve. I am set free to find my way home inside my own being. I find peace. I can rest. I can breath. I am loved. I stop fighting. And most importantly, the veil of self-loathing drops and I see clearly for the first time my own beauty and that of our bigger home - humans, the earth, the universe, the cosmos, and mystery. And oddly enough, I am able to hold the whole of the truth for the first time. Not simply the beauty of my being, but the horrors wrought from living so far from home.
I just stopped crying after reading what you shared. You writing touched my heart. I still miss my mom and dad. And so many things. Sometimes being home is a place of pain and I try to escape to the shores of a wild beach with the sun rising. Hope on the wings of a dove. Yes and thank your for sharing your heart. And are you writing a novel?
Love you ma
Kevin's random thoughts of a dream not lost
Often I dream of a world at peace were decisions are not based on complicated conditions, but a more simple one like choosing what flavor of Ted Drews or which kind of hide and go seek you want to play. - As I have grown from my "innocent" ideal of what the world is to a much more clear reality of the pain around us I long to look back to those days - I call it the Peter Pan effect.
Imagine if USA Today reminded us of something, simple, pure, innocent like: eating miracle whip and peanut butter sandwiches with your sisters, the smell of stew on a Friday, playing hide and go seek and tag with your best friends, swimming with all the kids on the block in your own backyard, the sound of the snow cone man coming, putting your baseball uniform on and showing off to your parents, taking a drink of fresh squeezed lemonade at 6 flags on a hot day. I look back and am reminded of this place of Joy.
The memories of those first drops that hit your mouth and that zing and then the ahh. For a moment I get to dream of that place with no crime, terror, tragedy, political nonsense, smog, and violence.
For this place is my refuge that I can escape to with no admission cost and the only barrier of entry is by me loosing my way. May I never forgot of this place. Sometimes I would have a nightmare in which I realize suddenly I have no idea of the path to take back home. Many times not even understanding what destination is that I seek. Although, I think I understand better now ... the further away this "world" pulls me from remembering my serenity and connection to home. There further I am locked into a maze in which I am forever hopelessly lost. That frustration of not finding our way reminds me of many of my clients with mid stage Alzheimer's and the deep depression and frustration they feel when they understand they are loosing there mind and can not go to that place they called "home".
So I count my blessings and remember to be at peace and hopeful when troubled waters come. I praise and pray even in a world that may be not so nice. And God talks to me and lifts the fog to see the place that was always in front of me - I place I like to call home.
.