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,
Donna
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