Home

I traveled to New England this past weekend to spend time with family and friends I’ve missed during the holiday season over the past five years since we moved South. Other than a debacle of a travel day with multiple airline delays, cancellations, and transfers, it’s nice to “be home.”

Words are dancing around my head at the halfway point of my visit.

Distance. Family. Memories. Change. Time. Faith.

Words that apply at any given time of life. But those words are calling loudly to me today.

Distance isn’t just miles. Distance exists in hearts, in ideals, in age, in expectations.

Some distance is unavoidable. You can’t shorten miles. You can’t change ages. Yet some distances can be manipulated, reshaped. You can share differing ideals with the intent of finding common ground. It’s possible. Maybe not always simple. But possible.

Family has a broad reach. It includes those we are connected to by blood and those we are connected to in spirit. Both are significant. Both groups can gain from efforts to remain connected; yet it’s possible that neither will always serve our growth or peace.

Some memories can’t be changed. But perspective can always be changed. Age brings wisdom that provides perspective, allowing us to return to moments from the past and see them differently. Wisdom is a powerful tool. Gaining it is a lifelong journey that requires effort and discernment. Seeking sage advice from outside ourselves is a tremendous tool for growing in wisdom.

One thing you can bet on for sure in life is change. Change is inevitable. It is part of the natural flow of life. Nothing stays the same. And to brace against change is like bracing against a tidal wave’s surging rush. Change is going to come. We may not know when or where, but count on it—change is going to come.

Time certainly cannot be changed. It is fleeting. It is set. And it is important. It should be respected, but not feared, like anything else you can’t control. Time is to be used and viewed wisely.

Faith, ironically, is both the most fragile and the most powerful of these words.

Not everyone has it.

Not everyone believes in it.

Not everyone believes it at all.

But when you have faith, it changes the lens through which you see everything. It changes how you feel about things. It changes how you react to things. Faith has the power to change you.

Faith has the power to change everything.

Thousands of years ago, it did change everything.

So, while I spend the last few days “back home,” I carve out time for mindfulness. To be aware.

What do I want to carry back with me?

My suitcase is jam-packed with heavy winter sweaters and layers needed to go from the fifty-degree southern winter to the twenty-below Boston temps. Space is limited for what to bring home—in both my suitcase and my heart.

So my heart-packing itinerary is this:

I’ll take the laughter at the heavy Boston accents I never noticed while living here for decades. Funny what time does. Now that the accent is so apparent, it makes me smile and laugh out loud. This makes it interesting when I’m on a plane, traveling hundreds of miles, sitting next to two Boston guys, and I’m trying so hard not to burst out laughing at their loud, colorful banter.

And I’ll be practicing my “Rrrrs” when I get back home to Carolina—doing my best to “fit in.”

I will not allow room for distances between what was once home and what I am striving to call home.

I’ll smile and hold my heart when I look at pictures taken the night my family and I went out to dinner. We enjoyed great conversation, laughs, and excellent Italian food. My family knows how to laugh. I am grateful for that. That memory gets a big spot in what I pack in my heart.

I’ll also take the bittersweet memories of seeing childhood monuments that are either gone or so different I didn’t recognize them.

My visit to the library held big expectations. I wanted to inhale the smell of comfort I would get every time I went there with my dad. He’d head to the adult section upstairs, and I’d go down the skinny spiral staircase with the dark black steel railing to the brightly colored children’s section.

Those bookcases held worlds I’d lose myself in—stories about riding horses through the woods, running from wolves, and dodging trees with the wind blowing my hair back in my mind. Oversized, heavy chairs sat waiting with thick arms and backs like a wooden grandfather. Timeworn tables covered in crayons and lines from little fingers were replaced with hospital-white plastic ones.

The warmth and brightness I hoped to find there had disappeared into the walls, now white and stark.

But the warmth and sturdiness I found comfort in, I see now, came not from the library itself, but from the experience of going with my father. His were the sturdy arms that held me steady. It is his warmth that remains with me to this day, and I will always carry that with me.

As the last days count down, I’ll try not to keep an eye on the clock or ask how much more I can fit in, or try to recapture things—knowing the hands keep moving, unstoppably, forward.

I won’t think about things waiting for me at home. Things like moving the furniture, knowing chaos will follow, to create a writing space for my new passion and craft.

The most important thing I hold space for is my faith. It has given me strength to pause in times when, in the past, I would have overreacted to situations around me. It has given me tools to find peace and comfort. This is something I need to pack with me as much as I need the air around me to breathe.

Moving to a new part of the country, being forced to let go of many things I loved, and learning to accept the ever-changing aspects of life as I age have not been without their challenges. Revisiting “back home,” I can see now, was a way for me to try to hold on to things tangibly that I actually carry in my heart.

These memories and family ties are in my spirit. They go wherever I go. I may run back and look for something to take with me, but my hands will always be empty. My heart, however, can always be full—if I choose to see it that way.

I need only to disregard any distances, time, or changes that threaten to challenge those truths. Strengthening my faith is time well spent. It is what strengthens every other good thing in my life.