He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.
I hope you were able to join me last week when I visited my Home Town. If not, hop back and read along. Then come back for Part Two:
When I want to go back “home” I think of the days I ran down the dunes, sandy wind blowing in my tangled hair. I think of the day I was sunning at school, sitting on the balancing beam during recess next to my bff; life was good that day. I think of the day I danced on my daddy’s toes. I smell fresh bread and fresh roses. My mom always smelled like roses. I taste the exhilarating tartness of a quince, or the smooth sweetness of manjar.
I tend to forget the day I was groped by a man on the crowded bus, or the day I was followed by a promiscuous stranger. I forget about those nasty sunburns that left blisters all over my body leaving my skin looking like a crocodile’s, and peeling for what seemed like weeks.
I forget about the night I cried myself to sleep because my friend’s indifference pierced my heart and left me feeling alone and abandoned.
I forget that the boy I was in love with for years never gave me the time of day. Or that my Spanish teacher played favorites; I could tell she liked my sisters more than she liked me.
I forget about the day we had to put my dog to sleep, or the sad day my brother left for collage. I forget about the day I found out my granddad had died, or the day I was told my mom was sick.
I forget about the day I missed my best friend's concert because I didn’t pay enough attention to her when she told me where to go. She won first prize that day. And I missed it.
I forget about the boy whose heart I broke.
I forget about the insecurity I felt for being the only girl in my class that could never tan, or about the millions of pimples that overpopulated my back and face. I forget about the days I felt fat, rejected, and like an outsider.
I forget… that my life wasn’t perfect.
Because when life gets hard I want to hang on to the joyful, the easy, the good and the perfect.
So, I long for a peach so sweet and juicy I have to eat it bent over.
I long for sand so hot I’m forced to carry a towel with me to give periodic comfort to my burning feet.
I want to see white foamed waves crashing on black, jagged, rocks, and count the hundreds of sea lions catching the noon’s rays.
I long for a Sunday Roast, dusty shoes, and a church with concrete floors, acoustic guitars, and tambourines.
I long for steep hills, bright colored houses, and the sound of seagulls.
When I remember and yearn for the perfect, but then remember the not-so-perfect, I realize that what I have longed for all along is for that eternal home that God is preparing for me. That is what I’m really longing for. The home where there is no fear, no loneliness, no heartbreak, no pain, no tears, the home where we will never be an outsider, where we will always love and always be loved.
In the meantime.... this is where I belong, holding on to the gift of a glimpse of the promised eternity that I am able to peek at every day. I belong Home, in his presence, in his peace, in his joy, feeling his wind in my face as I run, tasting the sweetness if his unconditional love, and feeling his strength as he holds me up when I dance on his toes.
That is where I live now, in His Town. I love this Town, I always will, as long as I remember that he lives in it with me. Still.