One of my nephews messaged today because he’s coming home next month and wanted to let us know. By “coming home,” I mean his childhood home in Trenton NJ, which is a mere 500 miles from us, his Maine family, rather than roughly 7,200 away in China where he has been living and working for the last few years. Since he will be so close, even for just a few weeks, he would like to come and see us, catch up on all the news, and share his own. He wants to rest and play, explore and share good conversations with us over a glass of not-so-great wine.
My nephews have spent two weeks nearly every summer of their childhoods here in Maine with their extended family. For many years they came with their parents; a happy, crazy, hazy, lazy time in August. Now that they are all grown, they still come up as often as they can, separately but with the addition of friends, girlfriends, and partners. I love that even as adults, or maybe especially because they are grownups, with grownup lives, they still think of Maine as a place for R&R, a place where they can shrug off their heavy adult coat and live unburdened for a short time.
It’s a wonderful feeling to know that your home and/or presence is a comfort to others, a sanctuary and a place to recover from the demands of an unforgiving world. There are so few places in this world where there are no expectations. Most of us wear a mask at times, even those among us who value authenticity and prickle internally at a disingenuous atmosphere or situation. There are social norms to conform to though, and hoops to jump through, and it can be exhausting, even for the strongest of the strong…maybe especially for them.
When the winds of adulting have left you battered you to the point of bone-weariness, isn’t it so comforting to know that there is a harbor of love beckoning you home, a place where you are cherished and loved, fluffed and puffed? Not unlike a child whose mittens dangle reassuringly from a string around his shoulders and whose hood is tied securely and lovingly by his mother who is careful not to pinch when zipping him up, its such a safe feeling to know that there is a place where you can go to be protected from the elements, and feel the lavish heaps of care, attention and protection.
I hope that everyone who reads this has a place like this, maybe even several places, just like my nephews. A place where you never knock before you come in, and don’t have to text first to say you’re going to stop by. A place that the owners face will light up when they see you. A place where you leave your social mask at the door and slip into your authentic-self slippers, which have been left for you by the door from your last visit. A place where the people love it when you brag about your accomplishments a little, and feel genuine joy and pride for all that you’ve done out there, and you never feel embarrassed to tell them the compliments others have paid you, because you know they truly enjoy hearing it. A place where your favorite foods are prepared in your honor and it isn’t awkward at all if you take a quick nap on their couch after you eat. A place where you can feel yourself paradoxically unplug, yet recharge. A place where secrets are told and kept, and when you share the darkest parts of yourself; the things that you’re ashamed to say but long to tell, you do, because you know the ugliness will dissipate in the light of their eyes. A place where the fire is warm and the hearts are warmer and the burdens you lay down at the door when you entered this place are still there waiting for you by the door, but they are curiously lighter than when you came. But wait, they’re actually not any lighter, it’s just that your arms are stronger, and your mind is clear. Your gait is determined and your spirit refreshed. The world and its demands are still waiting for you, yet you now welcome the challenge; buoyed, bolstered and wrapped in a protective bubble of unconditional love.
I am thankful to have such places to go here on earth, and even more grateful to be this person for a few people, but to me such a place is Heaven. I’m not talking about streets of gold and angels with harps kind of heaven, I’m talking about Home. I’m talking about wearily trudging up to Jesus’ cozy house, dropping my burdens by the door, entering without knocking and seeing him to turn to me, delight on his face. I’m talking about sipping coffee with him while we eat warm cinnamon buns and I talk about all the things on my heart. I’m talking about seeing the love in his eyes, as he nods and say “I know,” and I know that he does. I’m talking about taking a quick nap on his couch while he covers me with his softest blanket. I’m talking about waking so refreshed that I’m ready to go back out there.
He’ll wave as I go of course, and even though I’ll have a lump in my throat because I know I can’t live there yet, I can visit anytime. And as time goes by and I pick up more and more bags of worldly burdens, the heavier it all becomes. And just when I think I can’t go any farther, I find a love note that He tucked in my pocket while I napped. The Word is weightless, yet sinks into my heart, and a curious mix of strength and softness surround me. The power of His Word will sustain me until that day- when dirty, tired and hungry I again trudge to His house and, without knocking, and knowing He will turn and smile, I enter into sweet and eternal rest (with a little bit of fun and adventure of course, because after all, this IS Heaven I’m talking about!).
*Don’t or can’t believe this? Is this too much of a fairy tale for you? It’s true, it’s all true and it will set you free. Questions? Comment below or PM me!
