Coming Home

I wake up this morning in one of my favorite places in the whole wide world: Celeryville Ohio, Kendra's hometown.  My college room mates used to call it "Pickleville" and we have heard on more than one occasion the term "Hick Town."  We get it, but still, we love this place.

This rail road town speckled with drive thru party stores whose best restaurant goes by the name of "Uncle Dudley's" is a place our family can't wait to get to.  It's not the scenery.  It's not the ambience.  It's not the 9 hole golf course you have to circle twice to make up 18.  Trust me, you don't get post cards with pretty pictures and inviting environments from Celeryville.  What you do get is family.  A family that is real . . . entirely authentic . . . genuinely caring . . . that let's you be who you are with no strings attached.

You don't have to impress anyone here and yet they always leave an impression.  From late night conversations that cross the spectrum of what people talk about, to meals that go on for days, to man games in the woodshed that include eighty something year old Uncle Rog and twelve year old cousin Ben, to golf wrapped up like the Michelin Man just to keep warm; this is a place we all love.

With this week being Thanksgiving and the source of income among the family found in growing and selling vegtables, it has to be said.  You've never experienced Thanksgiving until you celebrate Thanksgiving with a vegtable farmer.  They do it big.  The party begins on Wednesday and lasts until sometime on Sunday afternoon.  Sleep is optional. 

Coming to Celeryville reminds me of a single line you find in every gospel.  The line is simply this: "And Jesus went to his hometown."  He went home.  Even though he wasn't welcomed as a prophet in his hometown . . . even though they couldn't get over his being Messiah instead of the son of a carptenter . . . even though they were as stiff necked as a man in a hosptial brace . . . he went home.  It wasn't the place, it was the people . . . and they were people he loved.

Fredrick Buechner spends three books of memoires writing about the human desire to go home.  About the inate human longing for emotional connection and acceptance.  Essentially, Buechner concludes, that the true home we are all longing for is the place where God is and the people God places in our lives to remind us of Him.  Ultimately the longing is for heaven but there are moments and places where we experience the grace of heaven on earth.

Celeryville is a grace of heaven that reminds me of God.   For that I'm thankful.  Seems an appropriate beginning to Sabbatical.