I have travelled many hundreds of miles this summer, for both happy reasons and sad. Towards the end of this season of travel, I found myself more and more frustrated and annoyed with the constant effort to find routine items amongst my jumbled belongings. At times merely brushing my teeth seemed to be a Herculean task. I was more than ready to return home to a familiar place with a familiar routine, much as I sometimes chafe at the sameness of life here at home.
I am forced to admit once again how often I fail to be grateful for ordinary blessings: a place for my toothbrush where I can easily find it, and the ability to sleep in my own bed in peace and safety. I know that there are many homeless people here in this country. I have met some of them through Family Promise, a program that houses homeless families in churches, including the one to which I belong. I also know that around the world, the flood of refugees fleeing their homes with nothing more than what they are wearing seems to expand almost moment to moment.
This summer, I stopped to think about what it might be like never to be able to return home to a familiar place and a familiar routine. And while familiar objects are mere things and my family matters more to me than any inanimate object ever could, I still find it a blessing to live among familiar things with their reminders of times past and present, a living museum that contains the history of our family. I grieve for those who have lost that kind of comfort, perhaps forever. I weep for those who have lost the blessings of home. And I pray for the coming of that time when God’s peace and justice will prevail in a world made new.
Grace and Peace,