Free to Roam

Word of the day was: Trolley

I was home last weekend.

You know this, because there was the whole saga of my suitcase and all the pictures.

And I started thinking as I was tromping about on a beautiful Sunday morning, snapping photos.

(And this might be a load of hooey that I just think is deep but is actually complete crap.)

...Does anyone else worry that the things that seem very deep to them are actually not deep at all?

Anyway.. I was thinking that there is something of my soul in that place.. or maybe it's the opposite.

Gosh, it sounds cheesy to write out like that.

But it's my *home* and somehow it's been imprinted on me.

And it's like no matter how far away I go there is a piece of that quiet, that simple beauty that I carry around with me.

And an appreciation of beauty that you see everyday, but somehow don't become immune to, that I learned there.


In some ways it's a relationship that I have with a place... that quiet comfortable appreciation. Somehow you get to know a place even better and get to love a place even more, because of the time spent with it. Because of your history with it. Because it's so dependable. And when I'm there I can't feel out of place. I can't be a usurper because it's as though it was all created just for me. Just so I could be comfortable. Just so I could feel safe. Just so I could feel loved.

I think there is some basis of my understanding of God tied up in it all, too. Not in like some  crazy Native American land-spirit way... but somehow it feels a lot easier and simpler to connect to God in a quiet country morning than anywhere else.

I find a peace and soft strength and a sense of God's incredible power and kindness and I pull it from there like a string, always tied to it but free to roam.

I think I'm trying too hard to be poetic. I think I'm trying too hard to convey what I want to say, because what I want to say sounds so trite... but...

I was reminded just how much of my home I take with me, everywhere I go