March 6, 2012

• {a place to call home}

  The tall, burly looking border patrol guard peered at me through mirrored aviators, mechanically going through the list of questions, like – citizenship. where i’m from. where i’m going. what i’m bringing in…

  I always have to resist the urge to say something dumb like, “oh, just these four kiddos and the few mexicans we were able to stuff in the large suitcase!”

  He looked in the back window, rolled down, as the kids sat, lips pursed tight, eyes wide.

  We had just watched as he had searched two other vehicles in front of us, adding to their already over eager imaginations. They’re always positive we’re going to be arrested for something. possession of too many sugary snacks, I’m sure!

  He looked from each of their birth certificates, that he held in his hand, to their faces, studying each slowly. Then walked around the back of the van. I closed my eyes and inwardly groaned, “oh, please don’t open that…”

  When we had left home some five hours earlier it had been packed all nice and organized. {by shayne}. But since then, we’d had to stop and dig out clean clothes for baby who’d wet herself, and Ben who was holding her while she wet herself. and a power chord for the computer so Emma could watch a movie. and the outlet thing to plug the power chord into, yes… buried beneath all the luggage. I mean, where else would it be!!

  So. somewhere through all the in and out and digging, Ben and I decided packing the van from the inside was easiest. You just close the hatch and throw it all over the back seat!! of course we actually thought it threw. we had this whole strategy planned – knowing, when we got to where we were going that night, one of us would have to hold everything from inside, while the other opened the hatch from the outside..

  and I wondered now if I should go back and fill the border guy in on “the strategy?” 

  But, just when I was about to yell, “WAIT! Don’t open that!!” 
  I saw his mirrored face coming back around.

  “Okay,” he said, “you’re good to go.”

  I almost blurted, “really?” because for some reason I’m always surprised when we get in without a problem. But as I’ve learned the hard way, it’s best to keep talking to a minimum {remember my “illegal alien” spiel?} and just smile and nod.

  I was about to pull away when he suddenly gave a solid slap on the window sill, causing me to jump. I was sure he was about to say, “on second thought…” but instead, I think I saw a hint of a smile cross for just a split second as he said in as warm a tone I think a border patrol guard is allowed to speak in –

  “and by the way.. welcome back.”

  For some reason I felt instantly teary.
  and I just smiled and nodded and drove away.

  Turning on the familiar I-75, and heading south, the kids settled in and quieted, and I thought of that guy’s words…

  how that yes, it’s good to feel welcomed.
  even by a stranger in mirrored aviators and a gun at his side!

  And that’s exactly just the word that came to mind as I thought about my almost 2 weeks of visiting family and friends. to the border of Canada, to the border of Ohio. and then, from one side of the state to the next {literally. thanks to a slight detour by the i-phone’s gps system}. it seemed I journeyed far – and my heart, in a way, even further.
   
  And. when it was all over, and I was heading north once again.. I felt the feeling I always do. that mixture of emotions. the strangeness of leaving “home” to come, “home.”

  I’ve really struggled with that alot this last year. that sense of where home is exactly. the belonging you long for. of being part. fitting. feeling settled. and I wondered, “will I ever?” But, where tears usually fall, instead I found myself whispering prayers of thanksgiving to God instead – for all these ones that I felt blessed to have in my life. scattered all over the place.

  and suddenly it strikes me – home is actually many places. not just one. because it’s carried in sweet memories. held by those who extend that “welcome back” kind of heart. no matter how long it’s been. or even just meeting for the first time. they communicate acceptance. safety. warmth. grace.
  

  a, come as you are. stay as long you’d like. you.are.welcomed.here kind of people.

  and after all.. isn’t that what “home” is really all about.

  
  

  *****
  

  just a few highlights from our time~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  always so many hugs.

  
  i’ll never tire of seeing them hold hands.

  
  the kids colored for hours in the van.

  
  in the hotel on our way back. our faces say about how we were all feeling.

  
  the bridge back into canada.

  
  i love this.

  so grateful for all those, who hold a piece of home for me.

  ´¸.·¨) ¸.·¨)
  (¸.·´ (¸.·´ (¸.·¨¯`♥ amber

  • 5:06 pm
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