Friday, July 2, 2010

A Place Called Home

Today I went through boxes.  Not boxes really – no, I went through those huge oversize tupperware bends.  The ones that come in all crazy colors.   You more than likely keep practical items in them, like Christmas lights or your Thanksgiving Day Pilgrim Centerpiece.  I’m sure they have some official name -- IKEA, Create and Barrel, and The Container Store would be horrified to know I refer to them has oversize tupperware. –

Anyways, my bends don’t necessary fill the practicality category.  Instead of being filled with holiday wreaths and serving a functional purpose, mine house memories.  Some rich in color, filled with black and white photographs of my great grandparents given to me years ago. Others (two to be exact) hold small shirts and size 4 jeans – all of which I refused to get rid of a year into college because I was some how convinced that with a few trips to the gym (and possibly having my hips size reversed) I would somehow fit back into them again – the fact that skin tight, Abercrombie & Fitch, naval baring tees might go out of style never seemed to cross my mind. –

Memories.  One from 1991 -- a poster with my hand and feet impressions that I made at vacation bible school.  Another – A note from a friend in high school.  It read: “Lindsey, You really stink at economics but at least you are good looking.  Thanks for the candy.”  Pictures – Middle school band, 7th grade when I chopped off all my hair, my first picture with glasses, a photo with teammates from the first season I hit a homerun, picture after picture of me in that bright red lipstick, crisp white boots, and a hat that symbolizes only a true Texas drill team.  Taking a huge leap off what was basically a telephone pole at Young Life camp. Covered in mud from head to toe from an intense game of ‘dirt kickball’ at Highland Lakes. Over and over again -- faces, notes, cards, keepsakes, all reminding me of where I came from and the people who have shaped me. 

It’s funny how God plans out our life.  I’m less than 48 hours away from planting my roots in soil out west and where do I end up, home.   The place I grew up.  The place I spent every Sunday morning and night.  Seeing faces of people who have built me up, encouraged me and loved me unconditionally, weather they knew me well and barley at all.  And all of us were gathered to celebrate the life of a man whose legacy can’t even be justified by the English language.  A man who spent his livelihood being “good for nothing”.  A man who taught me what it means to follow hard after God and through Him to love others. 

I couldn’t ask to be in a better place – and I couldn’t ask for a better reminder.  While I am excited for the adventure that awaits me, I am so thankful for where I am from.  I am blessed to have been raised in a community that has loved me so well.   To come from a family that has never left me side and never ceases to come running when I need them.  And to have had the beautiful discovery of finding a second home and new loved ones over the past four years in Waco. 

As I move forward, as I part with the dear state that I love so much, may I not forget where I come from, who invested in me and my one true purpose.  May I never loose sight of the blessing of a place called home.


*Come one people, bare with me...I’m moving 1,400 miles way, I’ve got a right to get all sappy – but really, I promise every blog won’t be like this. :-)