Home is sewn into the seams of my suitcase –
Caught up in the fragments of childhood memories
Where I can’t place the country or state, let alone the date;
But I remember who was there
Home is in the beauty of silver-tipped mountains
And sweeping red canyons;
Where snow sneaks in for Easter
And July Fourth bakes the earth to a crisp
Home is in fierce, drumming rainstorms
Crashes of thunder
And the soft blink of fireflies;
Where stars pierce the sky
And mosquitoes outnumber them
The land of ever-changing, ever-flying, ever-new.
And the question, “what are roots?”
The longing for something constant in life –
Something else besides “goodbye”
The familiar taste of spicy meals and bustling market stalls
A far-off airport terminal I’ve known for as long as I can remember
And the voice of a treasured friend spanning oceans
Or sitting next to me
Both everywhere and nowhere
In heartfelt conversations or the scent
of my grandmother’s Irish Spring soap
And when it seems shattered, scattered to the winds
In a million pieces too tiny to recover
Home is still here in the promise of the Psalms:
“Lord, through all the generations you have been our home!
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God. ” (Psalm 90:1-2)
“Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.” (Psalm 139:7-10)
Inspired by this post from Communicating Across Boundaries.