Longing for Home

Today I am experiencing a deep longing.  Two weekends ago, I went on a writer’s retreat in Rockport, Massachusetts (blog post forthcoming) with my Hutchmoot pals, Jen and Chris.

Motif #1, the most famous landmark in Rockport

The retreat was excellent and was very helpful for me as a new writer.  I think, however, what I really needed more than the advice and knowledge I gained from the retreat, was the fellowship of my friends.

The three of us live in totally different places and are separated by over a thousand miles from north to south, and really our little gang of Weird Rabbits isn’t truly complete without my husband, Ryan, and Jen’s sister, Sherri.  But even in this tiny reunion, that little taste of sweet fellowship the three of us shared was cool water to my parched soul.  On Saturday, we slipped out of the retreat for an adventure in Rockport, making a pilgrimage to T. S. Eliot’s “Dry Salvages.” I treasured every second.  Walking along the beach, cold wind in my face, warm sun on my back, breathing in the salt air, I felt more at ease than I had in months.  We walked along until we found some large rocks to sit on and soak in the glorious afternoon sun.  While we were on no mountain, I was having a “mountain top” experience on that rock.  I sat with my arms wrapped around these two friends, feeling the Spirit move over us in the breeze.  I was home.

That little line of rocks is T. S. Eliot’s “Dry Salvages”

Chris and Jen have both written about a sense of place and longing for a home you’ve never seen.  I’ve felt both of those things significantly over the past two years.  I’ve learned more and more that home for me is not a place.  Home is people.  People that I love, people that by some miraculous grace return that same affection for me, people that understand and accept me for exactly who I am.  It’s not my love for Nashville and my Tennessee homeland that makes Hutchmoot a home for me.  We could have Hutchmoot in Antarctica and I would still be at home, as long as I am surrounded by the sweet community I’ve found in The Rabbit Room.  It wasn’t the drum roll of beautiful waves on the shoreline and the cool breeze tousling my hair in Rockport; it was the presence of my dear friends.  I ache for our next reunion.  This longing isn’t a bad thing; it is a drawing in, a beckoning of our Creator to a greater understanding of His Kingdom.  Andrew Peterson calls it a “window in the world,” a glimpse of the

Rockport Rock with Chris, Jen, and me | Photo courtesy of Chris Yokel

divine wedding feast to be revealed.

It’s a window in the world
A little glimpse of all the goodness getting through
And all along the way
The days are made of little moments of truth
–Andrew Peterson, “Windows in the World”

Sitting on that rock with two of my best friends was a window for me.  Enjoying their company was a glimpse of the goodness of the Kingdom getting through, like sunlight pouring through the window panes.  I savored that moment of truth with them.  I’m still savoring it.  I’m longing for a home I’ve not seen before, but have experienced just the same.  Wherever life may take me, I know that we will all be feasting at that table together.  Then truly, we will be home.