Homeless

Last weekend, Mark and I were on our way to the Simmons' house in Albertville for a church related meeting/dinner/thingie. Mark asked if he should take Rose Road, and I said no, go down to Railroad Avenue. Then I thought about it and I told him no, you're right -- Rose Road is the best way for us to go.

I used to know Albertville like the back of my hand -- I could have driven to nearly any location with my eyes closed. It was my home, and everyone I loved lived there. But now I do not live there, and haven't for a number of years. My parents don't even live there anymore -- they moved to Huntsville. I now go to Albertville only twice a week -- on Wednesdays for Nicholas' gymnastics class, and on Sundays for worship. I no longer know the neighborhoods and side streets like I used to. So as we were driving to the Simmons' and weighing the shortest route to get us there, I realized that I was glad I didn't know Albertville as well as I once did. I even caught myself thinking, "I can't wait for the day when I don't know this place anymore."

I began to wonder why I felt this way. The main reason, I think, is because my home is gone, and that leaves me with both relief and sadness. And when I say "home," I mean that place that exists in my mind when I think of "going home." It is more than a physical address. At least I think it is. It's almost like a state of mind, but my memories give it a physical place. Until I was eight years old, I lived with my mom and my grandparents. That was my real home and in my mind may always be, complete with Granny's irises in all their glory and the vegetable garden that got smaller and smaller as my grandparents got older and older.

I had other homes in Albertville as well, but they are all sold off and gone (as is Pap and Granny's place), and though I have lots of memories tied up with those places too, it is Pap and Granny's house that remains the definition of "going home" in my head.

I am glad, as I said, to be moving on from my home in Albertville, but I find myself with a void -- without "home" -- homeless. And that is not comforting. As much as I detest that little town (there are various reasons for this, but I shall not go into all that here), at least I had some place to call home.

I can't "go home" anymore. So I am left asking myself, now what? I want home. I do have a home -- the place where my family and I live. It is filled with lots of love and joy and happiness. Yet this is not the place I want home to be -- not in this town, not in this house.

Three days after wondering exactly how to get to the Simmons' house, I read Psalm 45. What led me to this particular Psalm is my Lenten disipline. Each day I read the meditations in the Episcopal devotional _Forward Day By Day_, but I have not been reading the daily Bible readings that go with each meditation. For Lent I am reading the Bible readings, which include selections from the Old testament, the Psalms, an Epistle and a Gospel, hence the Psalm I was led to read: "Listen, O daughter, consider and give ear: Forget your people and your father's house (v. 10)...Your sons will take the place of your fathers; you will make them princes throughout the land (v. 16)."

Well. If that ain't God talking to me! My home is -- IS -- my boys, Nicholas and Parker. They are my new home. Why have I never considered this? My friend Debby suggested that perhaps God wants me to consider where I want my boys to call home. Mark immediately said, "Huntsville!" Well, yes, that is ultimately where we'd like to live. Maybe God is preparing me to get ready because the move is coming, even if I don't know it yet. Maybe God wants me to do as my grandparents did for me -- they didn't look back a whole lot, though they cherished and honored their memories of the past -- they continually moved forward. Their garden that they made smaller and smaller with every passing year is an example of that: they were preparing for what was to come. I think the common theme here is that I should prepare. For exactly what, I don't know. But my boys will see me moving forward, not stuck in my past. And definitely NOT worried about how to navigate the streets of Albertville.