In the first year of living in our house, I was living out the grief of leaving behind our old house, neighborhood, friends and church. While we sought to make this new nest comfortable, it felt at times like wearing a starchy shirt when you long for the folds and softness of the familiar. Isn’t how change can be?
Being so close to home all this time makes me realize how comfortable I have become here as we approach our second year in June. It makes me recall how tremendously glad I am for the community that has formed while in Columbia, and a church that is always giving with all its heart.
And when I was still feeling a bit disconnected six months ago, I realized how much it was within my spiritual power to help create community. I think this part of the reason Balloon Pastor waving came into being. I wanted a neighborhood where there were signs of joy at each corner, so why not live into it? I wanted a block that continued to have annual cookouts, so why not help host one?
I long now for a community that remains connected even as we distance. We are doing intensive legwork at the church to help facilitate this. And now, I wonder, after all those months on the corner, how do I keep living into the joy and hope I hold not just for my little family in this geographical spot? I keep holding that hope for everyone.
Now we all face huge changes and uncertainty. Our hearts ache for those in the path of the virus. Our homes have become our havens and our retrictive quarters. Some are forced to live with others when the situation is not healthy or safe.
The prayer tonight is for home, wherever you call it so. As we are attune to all of the good stories coming out of our country and world’s coping, I give thanks for the home we hold together in virtual space.
The golf course mower had taken out yesterday’s mandela, but we were inspired to create–on top of our old remnants–a sign of home among the daffodils, clovers, and stones. Here’s to the end of March and the advent of April.