It’s good to return home after being away. Our cat has been kneading his paws in the air; a sure sign of contentment. As a child visiting family, I remember falling asleep to the lullaby of cicadas. There was no air conditioning in that home, so open windows allowed the rhythmic cicada chorus to reach forte dynamics. Then they would all decrescendo together before gradually reaching forte again. Each summer while visiting family near the ocean, the distant sound of a foghorn from the lighthouse would lull me to sleep. The foggy night air no longer resonates with the horn’s baritone voice. I miss that lonely, comforting sound. Even when far from home, certain memories can still be comforting. These memories seem to be full of love. Where love is, and where the heart lives, that’s home.
The heart is where Christ dwells in us. –2 Corinthians 13:5
Last week’s morning walks were full of smells. Each day I noticed something lovely. I didn’t know exactly what it was since multiple options surrounded me, but the aroma was beautiful. Then there were the scents of the marshlands at low tide. Not the most pleasant aroma, however it did carry with it wonderful memories. As I visited family over the past few weeks, smells reminded me of shared experiences. The layered, intricate smells of old familiar buildings and homes are not sweet like botanicals, but they can be just as beautiful. Then there is the smell and taste of food! On the drive home, as I munched on a sourdough pretzel from my hometown, my husband commented on how he has never acquired a taste for pretzels like I have. As a child, after church each Sunday, Dad let me eat a soft pretzel from the downtown newsstand on the way home. I also remember Mom and Dad taking me to the local bakery to learn how to roll and shape our own pretzels. Oh, the smell of fresh pretzels! I wonder if I would love them nearly as much if my family hadn’t gifted me with these memories.
We gave Dad eighty gifts to open for his birthday, one for each year. Many of the “gifts” are memories family members wrote on cards. Tonight after dinner, Oompa read some of the memories written by his grandchildren. The memories gave Dad a huge smile and brought Oma to tears. Sharing these special times with our loved ones are the most meaningful gifts, and remembering the loving memories I have of Dad unexpectedly became gifts for me.
We are celebrating my father’s birthday, near my hometown in PA, before driving back home. A family tradition has been singing the Doxology before each meal, so whenever our family and friends get together, we join our voices in song. Every table blessing sounds different because of the unique vocal mix. Sometimes we sing in unison and other times in harmony. It was nice to have my father’s baritone voice singing along with tonight’s meal as we praised God for our food, for each other, and for the many blessings in our lives.
Arms swaying as I walked by the salt marshes this morning, my fingers served as paddles for those big, pesky greenhead flies. Some bugs can be controlled by certain smells or other repellents, but I haven’t yet found anything that keeps these aggressive creatures of God from being a nuisance. Over the years I have come to accept the things that cannot be changed and move on.
The sun rises super early in this part of the country. It usually begins to shine in my eyes around 4:45 am; when the birds begin to sing. It wasn’t quite as bright today, as the sun was filtered by fog which quickly burned away later in the morning. On my walk, I periodically closed my eyes. Every time I did this, I noticed a new sound or sensation. The individual birdsongs were more noticeable. The thud of my feet on the ground had more intensity. Glistening with the early heat of the sun, I felt the welcome, cool breeze on my skin. Closing my eyes was eye-opening. Why do we sometimes have more clarity in the darkness and the haze?
Bread for the Journey 