Home. What does the word mean to you? This week the
word had been hitting me hard. I called my parents from college and said
goodbye with tears welling in my eyes. When I said goodbye on the phone I
wasn’t simply saying goodbye to a conversation, but to a home. A motherly
voiced that comforted and soothed, and a father’s laugh that filled the nights
with joy. I said goodbye to friends.
But I got to thinking about how I define the word “Home”.
For me a home is anywhere that has captivated my heart. Uganda is a home. The
other day I had to wash my shirt in the sink, and I could almost hear the
chickens cackling in the back round, the smell of smoke permeating in the air.
But most of all I could imagine Mamma’s hands as she wrung and washed the
clothes encased by a back round of lush vivacity. When I got to the village we
called her Mamma and it wasn’t till the end of the trip that I realized how
much of a mother she had really been to me. She was the hen, sure and strong,
and I was the chick tucking myself in her wing. Mamma taught me to be a servant
with a smile. It is one thing to meet the needs of others, but it takes love to
serve with a smile.
My heart also lies in the songs my mother plays on
the piano. They range from light Disney show tunes to deep and romantic
broadway songs. It seemed as though my life was so dull until her veiny hands
would place themselves on the piano. She played as if life and energy moved
through her fingers tips and then I would set my voice free like a bird caged
until the final moment when the doors are thrown open. The songs that my mom
played are a kind of home for me.
“We will pay for bits of the southwest the way we
will pay handsomely, in this generation or the next, for a home. Whatever that
looks like; We find ourselves longing for some combination of Martha Stewart
and what we can imagine, say, of our family seat in Brazil.” –Gish Jen (The Blair
Reader).
So I ask you again, what is home to you? The smell
of fresh peaches on a hot summer day? The soft and loving touch of a mother,
grandma, or sister? Those are the places we find comfort after the long journey of life. I
often think of myself as a sojourner reminiscing about home… forever dreaming
of the land where I plant my weary feet.
Stay tuned for more Malarkey next Monday! Stay groovy :)
