I tell a story in The Way of Belonging about playing Skip-It outside my childhood home, a place where summers were spent running barefoot across the grass and knocking on neighbors’ doors to see if they wanted to come out and ride bikes in the alley. The sense of home there was strong.
On Monday, I drove to my hometown to visit a church where I’ll be speaking in a couple weeks. So much in that little town has changed over the years—and yet it hasn’t. The little popcorn shack my brother and I frequented as kids was still tucked back behind the florist, just west of the courthouse square. As I drove down 9th Street, I saw former neighbors unloading their groceries and doing yard work. At least, I think it was them. Thirty years is not a small amount of time, and time tends to leave its mark upon us all. Hair once brown had silvered, and backs once straight appeared a bit stooped and hunched.
I’ve often imagined what it might be like to go back to my childhood home and knock on the door, to ask the current owners if they would be willing to entertain an offer. Ben isn’t so keen on the idea, but it doesn’t keep me from trying to convince him. It doesn’t keep me from going back to that white stucco A-frame whenever I’m in town, driving slowly along neighborhood streets I used to haunt and feeling relief that I can still see the old wooden shutters through the house’s den window.
Before you report me, let me reassure you: I never stay long. I linger just long enough to feel the swell of nostalgia and snap a picture and take a quick peek around.
Realistically, I know moving back would not solve all the complexities of my belonging. Place alone isn’t the answer. Returning rarely lives up to the romance we’ve built up in our minds. And yet, I keep circling back to these spaces that seem to have embedded themselves within me, where my brain and my body remembers being settled, safe, and free. I keep wondering what one home can tell us about Another.
Because while I cannot necessarily go back, I find goodness when I linger in the memory for moment and ask myself, “What hint of Home can I take with me? What can I carry with me from this place, to fill me with courage and hope for the rest of the way?”
Good Things to Pick Up
Lately, I’ve been swimming in a sea of details related to releasing The Way of Belonging into the world in just over three months (yikes!), and it’s so easy for me to feel like I’m flailing about. I’m coming to terms with the fact that administrative details is not my strong suit. But alas, lists have been made, and tasks need to be done.
I have found a few things that have helped me stay grounded and add a layer of richness into what is a very full season, so today on this first day of March, I’m passing them along in case you might need them too.
a quote
We’ve been reading How Far to the Promised Land for book club, and these words really held me captive and gave me a little extra boost of courage.
“…love sometimes means acknowledging and bearing with the broken parts of people,
even to the point of suffering scorn.” —Esau McCaulley
a movie
Every year about this time, Ben and I try to watch all the films that have been nominated for Best Picture, and after being underwhelmed by Maestro (despite my utmost respect for Bradley Cooper’s talents), we were pleasantly surprised by The Holdovers. As a former Resident Director who remained on campus over breaks, I loved the premise of this story, the unlikely pairing of misfits who had been left behind but found something they had been missing in each other.
an artist
My friend Megan and I had been scheming for months to see Jon Batiste live, and Tuesday night’s concert did not disappoint. Jon’s music has always had an openness and energy to it, but seeing him live was truly a light-filled experience. The way he connected with every person in the crowd and invited them to be part of the music was truly transcendent (and I do not use this word lightly or often). So if you’re looking for good music and crazy-talented artist to add to your mix, might I suggest Jon Batiste.
That’s it for this first day of March. I’d love to hear about the things that are adding goodness or helping you stay grounded in your own life. As Henri Nouwen writes, may we keep on paying attention and drawing attention “to every little hint of the Kingdom that is at hand.”
Loved reading this, Sarah. Good to connect with your writing :).
Thank you for this. It was very well written