My mother’s father used to sing us a song called, “Show Me The Way To Go Home”. He had come over to America from England as a young man in the 1920’s. He worked on the railroad earning and saving money until he could eventually send for my grandmother to join him in Boston. He told us that he and the other engineers would harmonize this melody at the end of their long days on the train. We were amused by the lyrics, but there was something about the tune that was melancholy as I pictured the men with their toughened hands, and their caps, and their lunch pails, tired and worn, physically depleted just looking for a place to rest their weary bodies… lonely for their families and their homes on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
That song, that time settled on my mind today as we made the drive from Georgia to Ohio, returning from a joyful Thanksgiving weekend. As we got closer and closer to our address, I realized that we were merely arriving at a structure, a house, a place to rest our heads. Home would be created as we stepped through the door, when the house would become filled once again with the love and laughter of family, and God’s Holy Spirit.
As we travel about and begin new traditions, as our family grows and our roots extend in different directions, it’s comforting to know that wherever we are, as long as we are together, we are home.
So thankful for these smiles. So thankful for “home”.
Loves Doves 