Home

Sorry for the recent neglect of the site but even with all the easy targets our recent political and financial environments have provided my heart just hasn't been in it. As some of you know, my father's health has been in rapid decline and that has occupied my thoughts. The problems became such that I made a trip "home" to see him and the family. It was my first trip in a little over three years and I have to say the trip did me a bit of good in that it reinforced in me the idea of what it means to have a home... not a house, but a home.

It is at home where I am loved, unconditionally. Home is that one port in the storms of life where I know I will always be welcome, made to feel safe, made warm, be fed, listened to, cried with and laughed with. Home is where it isn't Mike the success, Mike the intellectual, Mike the "pillar of society" or anything other than "Mike the son", "Mike the brother", and "Mike the uncle" that holds any weight and has any standing. Home is where people are waiting out in the cold mist just to hug me and say "Welcome home, we're happy to see you" and where those same people with mist in their eyes hold me tight as I leave and say "We love you. Be safe. Be happy. Come home more often" and I know in the depths of your soul they mean it.

Home is the place that laid the foundations of all that I was, all that I am, and all that I will be. Home is where not necessarily everything went over well, but was always done in the spirit of love and desire of helping me to become better. Sometimes those lessons worked, sometimes they didn't, but even when I said "No" and openly rebelled home is where I can always return without heaps of shame thrown on me.

Home is where I learned the lessons of celebrating life and the cold reality of death, of the value of spiritual riches in the absense of material riches, of the importance of the small things in a big ol' world.

Home is where I learned the power of love in the face of evil and hatred which has given me a generally optimistic view of life (after all, the end of Scripture can be summarized as "Good wins"). Home isn't the place of perfection but it is the place of freedom to try and the freedom to fail. Home is where I learned to be human and was privileged to see the true heights to which humanity can rise in the face of adversity. Home is also where I learned the following poem by Edgar Guest from my great grandfather, my grandmother, and my mother:


It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home,
A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam
Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind,
An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind.
It don't make any differunce how rich ye get t' be,
How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything.

Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it;
Within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and then
Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men;
And gradjerly as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part
With anything they ever used—they've grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb-marks on the door.

Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh
An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that Death is nigh;
An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come,
An' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an'when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified;
An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories
O' her that was an' is no more—ye can't escape from these.

Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got t' romp an' play,
An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day;
Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear
Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes t' run
The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun;
Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome:
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home.


Having gone "back home" and been reminded of "home" I have come to realize that "home" has expanded. "Home" is back in Missouri, but given all that I have said "home" is, I see it shaping here in California too for I see my beau as part of home as well... and I am the richer for it.