I thought of the song “Homeward Bound” by Simon and Garfunkel as I was traveling to my childhood home recently to empty its contents with my siblings. After a year of being on the market, it sold and is due to close later this month. For this column I gave the title a bit of a twist by removing one letter in the second word to reflect the beautiful nature of what transpired.
I experienced mild anxiety, anticipating not only removal of furniture and belongings of my parents, but the selection process which all happened in the span of 6 hours. I believe what made the difference was prayer. Before getting started, we gathered in a circle to offer the day up and invite God in. My 19 year old son was there for me, not only for physical but moral support. He unhesitatingly joined in the anointing of the day. I’m still not sure how taken aback he was, but he went with it!
What followed was nothing short of miraculous in my view. My butterflies dissipated as did my deer-in-the-headlights expression as the day simply . . . flowed. We worked out any vying for the same item with grace, respect and kindness. And I felt on the receiving end of much of it.
My older brother and sisters were “lookin’ out for me” to put it quite simply- ensuring that I had what I needed as well as wanted for my humble household. In fact, I was expecting that we would be drawing names out of hat for several, if not many, items. The only time this occurred, however, was when there was competition for a mounted fox head of all things, which as “legend” has it, was from one my father had killed on our farm.
I once read that we must receive blessing in order to become a blessing. This was never more apparent than during my trip to Haiti last week. What I witnessed was consistent with my previous experience. This time, however, I was keenly attune to the surprise and delight of OTHER team members when orphaned boys and girls literally blessed them: scrubbing paint off hands, cleaning fingernails, “doing” hair, finding lost reading glasses, watching over – as opposed to rifling through – personal belongings and, of course, writing love notes. One I received was from one of my special guys who is now 14. I noticed only later that he put Watkins as one of his last names and expressed the following – abridged yet unedited:
“….I would to tell how much I love you and how I’m happy to see you this week: I’m verry happy. I thank you for when I sicked last year! Thank you for your support! No forget God will be bless you for that. I don’t have any money to pay you for that. God has a big plans for your life. For your children. I love you so much and will miss you! I’m sad because I know you will go in USA Saturday…Thank you for the time. Thank you because you gone to the beach with the orphenage yesterday. I love you. Thank you for learning bible… Praying for you. No forget Life IS Hope. God in you. God is for you. God with you….Your son Jacques”
My eyes welled with tears when Jacques gave me his letter and have every time re-reading it since. His faith, hope and love are staggering as well as humbling to me. God is so real to this young man that He is more real to me as a result. And although some of the children were sad and serious even before the last day of saying goodbyes, countless others had inexplicable and contagious joy in spite of the unspeakable horrors which brought some from their homes and villages to the orphanage in the first place.
All of this caused me to ponder the notion of home and what it means to them as well as to you and me.
Author Frederick Buechner exquisitely offers this: “To be really at home is to be really at peace, and there can be no real peace for any of us until there is some measure of real peace for all of us. When we close our eyes to the deep needs of other people whether they live on the streets or under our own roof – and when we close our eyes to our own deep need to reach to reach out to them – we can never be fully at home.”
Where have you last felt fully at home? Have you ever? The answer may not be the city or house you’re living in – however grand or modest. It could be anywhere- anywhere you are fully awake, paying attention, listening to the whispers, pouring yourself out for others, anticipating your real home in the hereafter and yes, at peace: real and lasting peace.
And if the old adage is true, “home is where the heart is,” I would venture to ask…
To Whom does yours truly belong?
– Caroline Watkins
