Welcome Home

As I was driving back to my parents house for Christmas, I was reflecting on the fact that there are voices, faces, sights and sounds, that somehow evoke a sense of home. There are also the little signs along the way that mean you are almost there... the mile markers drive me crazy as I do the math, trying to figure out how many miles there are until I take the exit from one highway to the next... just two miles beyond that... and a short drive down the street... a left turn... and there are twinkling lights on the bushes outside of the house (I think those are for me, especially). Here are a few of the "mile markers" of my drive to Saint Louis.

I drive past the exit for the beautiful location where we have had our retreats each semester. I am so thankful for the generosity of the family who welcomes us onto their property. When I pass the turn, I often think about just driving up to Beaver Lake, it's been one of my favorite views in the area for some time now.

Once you're into Missouri, there's an orchard on one side of the highway. In the winter, it's not much to look at, but I think of the Spring, and the trees flowering in breathtaking blooms.

There's a sign on Hwy 37 in Missouri that reads "Report feral hogs" and I laugh every time I pass it. It's funny, because I'm leaving Arkansas... we love the Hogs there and want them to be as wild as they can be. Come January 4, we want them as rough and tough as any one on the field when they meet the Ohio State Buckeyes in the Sugar Bowl.

I drive through a good friend's hometown. The wanna-be novelist in me drives through a neighborhood with large homes, beautiful and some slightly decrepit, and I can't help but wonder what the generations of that house have been, and what they will be.

Somewhere in here the sun has set; and though I hate being cold, I love winter sunsets. Somehow, the color is different. Summer sunsets seem to be wider, a grander display of colors: orange bleeding into pink into violet into navy. But a winter sunset starts out yellow-white changing to charcoal to a blue so dark it's almost black. Maybe the light reflects off the clouds differently, maybe I'm just making this all up. But someday I may pull over just to watch the sky.

Driving near Branson, MO you see plenty of signs for the shows... and I always have to ask myself, "Is Andy Williams still alive?" [EDIT: the answer is yes, he is still alive.]

There's a church built into the side of a slope. In front of the church is a cement fountain. I'm fairly certain the fountain is slanted, not level at all. It bothers me.

Now you've made it to Rolla... the home of the Missouri State Highway Patrol. Be warned: do not speed through this town. The whole time I'm driving through, I'm terrified of being pulled over.

When the wineries start popping up along the highway, I'm not too far from being able to get out of the car. I really want out of the car at this point, so the idea of actually going to one of those wineries is pretty much lost on me. I do, however want to stop and see the world's largest rocking chair. But I can't ever remember where that is along the way.

Jellystone Park. We actually visited St. Louis before we moved here, and the Yogi Bear sign is one of the hazy first-grade memories I have from that trip. During the Christmas season, presumably because no one is camping, they put out Christmas lights. A nice sight on the drive at night.

Kirkwood - 8 miles. Beautiful.

The house down the road that I really want to live in one day... with Christmas lights!

Home. I actually only lived in this house for about eighteen months. Except for the house we lived in at the very first (ten months), it is place I lived the least amount of time (in between were residences of three, two and five and a half years). Still... it is one of the few places in the world I call home (the others being my house in Arkansas, the seminary, Old Orchard Church, and my grandparents house in Oklahoma). It's nice to be here.