Certain dishes take me home. It is a place where I have never lived. It is a destination of which I have caught fleeting glimpses, yet it remains hidden like the lingering mists on the nearby Smoky Mountains. For a long time, I stayed away. With hindsight still unfolding, it feels as though I have been running away from a place that is patiently calling me back. I inevitably reach for slow-cooked grits and sausages when I hear the call. In its way, even with yellow grits instead of white, I am turning towards rural Tennessee and Georgia and relishing the knowledge that I have turned towards home.
In the lingering reflection of the meal, I hear life’s whispers. Each is a reminder of family and friends, lessons and guides.
Signs are helpful when used. Every day, I find myself confronted by signs. Not all are directions towards the light; they include detours, paths to self-destruction, and dead ends. As I consider the signs in my life, I rediscover the goals within my heart and soul. It is not as if I am redefining them. Signs that resonate with my heart remind me of my purpose and calling. As I reach for them, embracing them slowly and intentionally, I see my journey as an echo of the old observation left for us across time: “People who live this way make it plain that they are looking for their true home.” (Hebrews 11.14)
Missed, even wrong turns are learning experiences. Every step in my life has become part of who I am. I have come to value my mistakes as much as my successes. Each is an opportunity to learn and grow. For those affected by my learning mistakes, I offer a sincere apology with a heart full of gratitude. I am a slow learner, committed to using each day’s lessons and doing what I can to move forward with each step.
One’s heart points towards home. I am rediscovering home and longing to be there. Each moment is my opportunity to move in its direction.
