Going Home, Coming Home – Finding a Home

The theme for this summer’s sabbatical is “Going Home, Coming Home.” A lovely sentiment. But what if you are still trying to find your home in the first place? What if you are not able to “go” home? What if a location is perhaps still too new to be “home”?

An insight presented itself to me the other day. Just stood right up, waved its arms, and demanded my attention. We live in an age of rootless transience. Folks constantly “relocating.” Just when you are getting to know someone – whshht, they are whisked away. The current “housing crisis” in our land is a powerful symbol of a deeper disruption, a homelessness of the spirit, that has gripped society lately. How do you help folks create a home in an unfamiliar territory?

Those who live under the Arizona sun are familiar with our heritage, of people of European heritage who made their way into this desert of hostile beauty (displacing the Native American residents, we might add). Judaism, Christianity, and Islam all honor as founder another transient, yanked out of his homeland and shoved down the road to a strange new land: Abraham. Immigrants must carve a home out of a wilderness filled with unfamiliar landmarks – even if they are urban. Marilyn, RJ, and I know how that feels, even as recently as this week, as we’ve been casting about for new quarters. The owner of the house we rent gave us notice that we must be gone by the end of July. So we've been scrambling to find a new domicile. Call it the housing crisis up close and personal for us. So now we know with some immediacy: displaced persons always experience stress – even if the transition is for the best of reasons.

What makes a “home” out of a “place”? Some brief images come to mind: a place where we belong, where we’ve found our “place” in the group. A place where we can take root and figure out our present identity as belonging here. A place where we are connected to other people and the territory that surrounds us. A place where we feel welcomed, cherished, that is hospitable to us, body, soul, and spirit, welcoming our quests and our questions. A place where we share a heritage and a vision. A place where we can find a job that is uniquely our own, a vocation, whether it be teaching, making coffee, plucking weeds, or praying. A place where we can relax and know that we are known, loved, cherished. A place filled with keepsakes, with objects, but not just any old thing. A place filled with things that are tied to memories, to hopes, things full of meaning. Dad’s chair. Our pew at church. The youth room. A place echoing with conversations, be they pure silliness or freighted with things that matter. A place ringing with laughter, hushed with tears. A place swathed in forgiveness, as we decide to bury past offenses and build a future together, as we offer each other Christ’s peace every Sunday as a kind of “earnest money” deposit toward that future. A place in which we find ourselves banding with others – once strangers, now friends – marching together toward something important. A place fragrant with the scent of food, glorious food, in which we crowd around tables together, or a Table spread by a host named Jesus Christ. What makes a “home” out of a “place”? All of these things and more.

Let me suggest that anyone who is coming from another place, another web of relationships, is not truly “home” until they have found a future. “Home” gives us a place to stand and look toward a shared tomorrow. Which is what I’ve discovered right here at Chalice Christian Church. I’ve found a bunch for whom “home” is in the questions that in turn reveal a quest for God. Together.

At home here or there...

When I think about "home" there are many different aspects that come to mind for me. Right now, I have the privilege to be visiting my hometown of Indianapolis. In one way, this is "home" for me, but everytime I visit, I realize how much has changed, especially when I see kids I used to work with in my home church youth group. Of course, some of them are not kids anymore and I almost don't recognize them! I can't help but admit that it makes me feel old (btw, I just turned 35!). I know that by most people's standards, I am not old at all, but for me, my age is in relation to where I am in life right now. I just got married and don't have any children yet. I always thought I'd be a mom before now. Some of the kids I worked with in my church youth group are already parents! I guess that makes me feel a little behind. Hopefully, Robert and I will get there soon. :)

Despite the fact that I am visiting my hometown right now, what really comes to mind in terms of "home" is figuring out where Robert and I are going to live. We currently live in my condo, but he also owns a condo that we are trying to sell and since the housing market is in such a slump, we aren't sure where we'll end up. We might have to rent one of them out. So, we kind of feel displaced right now simply because we aren't sure where we can settle down.

Another aspect of "home" for me right now is my family's search for a vacation home. In a couple of weeks, my father, siblings, and I are traveling down to the Smoky Mountain area in Tennessee and North Carolina to look for a vacation property. Growing up, my family usually visited that area at least once a year, so it sort of became a "second home" for us. So, in a sense, I'll be going "home" again in a couple of weeks.

I guess I have some more reflecting to do when it comes to what "home" really means to me.

P.S. If anyone is interested, you can visit our wedding blog at http://robertandclara.blogspot.com.

Finding Home

I written a post in my mind several times for this blog. First, I was thinking about home-as where my spiritual routes were. As a child I went to St. John Vianney in Colonia, NJ. It was a big parish. I remember the family friends that attended. Once in a while we all drove to Consellata-a small church in the country that was a Italian missionary church. My dad and Siobhan's (my best friend) mom would sing along with a guitar. We went to the folk Mass on Sundays. We had Mass in my home for holidays or special occasions, when my uncle Pete (a Paulist priest) was in town.

I was not going to make it back east this summer. Even if I did, I don't know who I would visit.
I searched for Consellatta and St. Johns on the internet. I found them, but they were not home. I also realize they were not "home." I thought about going to Mass (just wasn't home) or reading Hans Kung (books that were a part of my home library- if you think Crossan is dense:).

Then Jim's parents moved here. Suddenly ten days later Jim's dad died. I found myself sitting in Chalice, listening to my dad and Jim in the service.
When I arrived, several church members were already there. My mom came along with a friend of our family. Slowly more church friends arrived. Then, friends from Jim's work and school slipped in. Cards and flowers arrived.
What a powerful moment for me. This is home-I am have been on the road - searching for home. Here I am.

Road Trip

Applebutter, Buffalo, Carrot, Dolphin, Everybody, Flamingo, Giraffe, Horoscope, Igloo, Jackalope, Kangaroo, Lithosphere, Minnie Mouse, Nitroglycerin, Octopus, Polytheism, Quinine, Robust, Snake, Titicaca, Uvula, Vaccination, Wave Frequency, Xylem, Yangtze River, Zanzibar. There are myriad ways to pass the time while driving cross-country, and they are way more fun when shared with young people. Maggie suggested we do the alphabet game, each of us in turn thinking of a word that starts with the next letter of the alphabet after repeating all of the previous words. I would like to be able to say that the most impressive words in our list (above) were mine, but I'm held to our familial requirement of honesty. I learned a lot about social studies and science curriculum on this road trip, and was pretty impressed. By the way, "polytheism" came from Maggie, and August commented that "monotheism is what we believe." They learned about religion in social studies.

I had forgotten how much I enjoy driving.

After brief stops to see my daughters I spent two weeks with my parents. What a gift it was not to be in a hurry. (I refuse to be anxious about schedule until August 16.) Daddy and I spent some quality time with the digital recorder, getting family history and story logged. I'll have more reflections on this segment of the trip later.

This road trip took me to each of my daughters' homes where I enjoyed unhurried time with their families. Stacey had a project in mind for us (removing holly bushes & replacing them with flower beds), but the torrential rains in Tulsa precluded outdoor work, and we did absolutely nothing quantifiable while I was there. It was delightful. Five-month-old Aiden is adorable, and playtime was a treasure.

At Heather's home we had an equally liesurely plan, but in a burst of energy pulled up carpet in Maggie's room, exposing a hardwood floor, and removed the paneling from her plastered walls. What a sense of accomplishment!!! And Maggie was so excited she couldn't contain herself. The painting will come later, but in the meantime, she organized her room, enjoyed making her bed, and cleaned out her closet.

While in Missouri I connected with old friends Joyce, Kay, Ramie (and Amy, Eric, Braden & Cole Shumaker) and worshipped at Blue Valley CC in Overland Park where I got to hear my former pastor, Rick Butler, preach. Ahhhhhhhhhh.

When it was time to load up the car and return to AZ, I threw my three older grandchildren in the car just for fun. We are filling our days with short trips and training for a hike in the Grand Canyon. But the greatest thrill in all of this for me is having the kids here for a sleepover -- for a week! I'm a happy "gram."

Going Home

On Sunday, I realized next week is Father's Day. I started to put together what I have on my plate for this upcoming weekend, and Pat and I realized this was a going home with a capital H.

This Saturday I will go to Meadlawn Christian Church to have Dad's memorial service in Indianapolis. It is the place of my baptism. It is the church where my grandmother entered on her own, some time in the 1930's establishing a relationship with Meadlawn Christian and the Barton Family. It is the place where my father was baptized, married, ordained, and on this Saturday will be remembered.

It seems surreal. Too enormous; like a plot point from an overly sappy movie.

It completely dwarfs my "job" (catalogue voter fraud, object to destructive testing, and draft competitive bidding requirements). And that seems to be where my focus is going right now. Not so much responding to the grief and sorrow of Dad's absence, but focusing on my hero image of him and this larger than life event that is taking shape. Forgive me, while I tarry a little longer here. Maybe until Saturday evening.

Everyday stuff

Home is where we do the everyday stuff that seems too ordinary to talk about. That's what has filled most of my days for the past two weeks. There were daily trips to the strawberry patch. The variety that my folks planted produces small berries, but when they're ripe, their color is such a dark red it is almost purple. The sweet-tart taste is unbelievable. And there's nothing better than berries capped as soon as they're picked, sugared and served over my mother's shortcake.

Friday I travelled from the farm in Carroll County, MO to my daughter Stacey's home in Tulsa for a major dose of lovin' on my grandson Aiden. More later.

Summers of the past

This is my first official summer as a "stay at home mom" and I am having a really hard time with the stay at home part of that title. Just before school got out I began to panic....what in the world are the kids going to do this summer?....how can I keep them busy?....how many activities can I fit into each day? I have enrolled them in a morning summer school program so that I can attend to my position at the church, but after 12 o'clock noon I have nothing for them to do.

What a blessing!

I was sitting on the side of the pool watching them swim yesterday thinking, "isn't there something else I should be doing?". I realized that this is exactly what I should be doing, enjoying my kids being kids and having some time in the summer to just do nothing. My childhood summer days were filled with hours of swimming, dressing barbies and braiding their hair, building forts and endless bike rides. Why do we feel that we have to constantly stimulate our children with planned activities? They, and we, need time for imagination and boredome and relaxation.

This will be my summer of renewal!