"FINDING HOME"
Friday, January 23, 2009
By Rev. Travis Franklin
I have lived in a parsonage most of my life. I was born into one and I live in one now. For some of you who might not be that familiar with the ways of the church a parsonage is a home that is provided by a local church for the pastor’s family. Parsonage life is all that I know. There have been many occasions in my life when I have been asked where are you from? or where do you call home? It has never been an easy question for me but my standard answer is Burleson, Texas because that is where I graduated from high school and I lived there longer than any other place I had ever lived. Somehow though, even that answer didn’t quite suffice for me. There has always seemed to be something missing for me when I thought about where home was for me. It has been a question that has haunted me for most of my life.
I must admit I have always been somewhat envious of those persons who have offered quick, easy, and clear answers to such a question. People who have grown up in a hometown, gone to the same church, attended the same schools, and shopped in the same stores for all their growing up life have always had something I just cannot relate to at all. When I married my wife I remember how bizarre it was for me to come back to the same house, in the same place, go to the same church, see the same folks, year in and year out. Her family were settlers in the area and had ties to the community that stretched further than my limited experience with such matters could even imagine. I remember when my mom and dad divorced my mother finally went home. For her that was the place she had grown up in with her mom and dad and her 2 sisters. It was the place where she had gone to school and church, where she landed her first job, where she knew the neighbors, where she and dad had met as young people, where her mom and sisters still lived. Mom found herself again there when she returned. She was loved there, she found her way again there, she drew strength from the place, the flat land where you could see from horizon to horizon, a place where the wind would blow you down on most days, a place that was distinctive with an identify that she related to and that had shaped her and made her who she was today. Even as I describe it for her I realize I have no such place.
So when I recently visited her at her house in her old hometown where she still lives, where most of her family is, and where others from the family are buried, to me, it was just another place. My uncle was in the hospital and we went to visit him. My Aunt Peggy hugged my neck and she said it is good to have me home. There was a time in my younger life that such a statement would have stirred my anger and resentment at even the suggestion that such a place was my home. I have no ties here that mean much to me. However, in my older years I find such anger and resentment reserved for matters that really deserve it and not wasted on innocent well-meaning statements such as the one my aunt shared with all sincerity and love for me. Her statement stayed with me for the rest of the day and evening as I pondered if this isn’t home for you where is?
My answer came quite easily this morning as I visited with mom about some matters of the heart as my life is being re-directed in a new and powerful way. I looked across at the woman with which I shared and the answer to my inquiry became easy. Home for me at least is where ever those who love me most are. For today home was here in this panhandle town where she lived. And so I guess in some ways it is home to me as well. Home because what shaped her has certainly shaped me. Home because some of my roots began here and continue to find nourishment and love here. Home because I too have kin buried here and they are mine and I was theirs. Home because after all we all need those places where we are loved and where those that love us live and grow and give. I guess Aunt Peggy was right it is good to be home. I will see you on the road, Travis
Travis