Thomas Wolfe titled his book, "You can't go home again." I disagree. My home town is a smallish one where I lived for about 7 years. It was a home that I went to again and again until I was in my 20's, married, and moved to Hawaii. Even after that I returned as often as I was able.
23 Wind Road is located in a solid little neighborhood, the home of Helen, my beloved and godly grandmother in that town.
Her other grandchildren called her Gram, but I called them Helen and Bobby. It seems that since I was the first grandchild everyone just forgot that I was supposed to call her something other than her first name.
Maybe this sounds like I was from a hip, modern family where adults were called by their first names. I was not. My family was traditional. My parents would not have been pleased to be called Maureen and Bob, I can assure you.
I did call my mother "Miss Maureen" for a time when she was my pre-school teacher (along with other children) at the Friends School in Boston. Right now, in her early 80s in assisted living, I call her "Beans." For some reason, when I am texting about her to my sister, the auto-correct changes "Mom" to "Beans."
Despite the notion of not being able to return home again, I plan to anyway. Bruce and I, after having lived at Pearl Harbor, San Diego, and in Virginia, have decided that we want to go back home to my little town.
We want a smaller home in a less densely populated neighborhood. We are hoping God will direct us to a place with room for growing our own food and maybe some chickens. Our ambition is to be able to minister to others in a hurting world from this place. We aren't sure how.
As Simon and Garfunkel sang:
I wish I was homeward bound
Home where my thought's escapin'
Home where my music's playin'
Home where my love lies waitin'
Silently for me
Home where my thought's escapin'
Home where my music's playin'
Home where my love lies waitin'
Silently for me
A small rose cottage comes to mind...
