Every now and then you truly “come home.” The homecoming I’m talking about is not when you drive by a house you once lived in and remembering what it was like back then – and pining for the “good old days.”
I am talking about a state of mind of being centered on where you belong. It’s where you’re nourished by just being there – wherever there is for you. It’s where you see hope for even better days ahead. Where the promise of enjoyment and fulfillment is being played out right in front of you. And, it’s where your dreams have not only come true but are breaking through on into the future.
It’s a place where the fears of poverty, criticism, ill health, loss of love of someone, old age or death have no welcome mat. It’s a place of conquered fear. It can be brought on by controlling your mind, or it may come to you when you’re at home with the people who make it so.
You can be miles away yet always present there. But, it seems to me there are some very special times when you do come together with those you love, and who love you in a place and time of unbridled joy.
I flew to Minnesota from my home in California last Friday. But I came home the very next day.
It started with a walk around the city and the new Twin’s ballpark. And, I think the first real moment of coming home for me, as strange as they may sound to you or outsiders is when I posed next to Kirby Puckett as he circled the bases on a walk-off home run in game 6 of the 1991 World Series with Jack Buck proclaiming, “And we’ll see you tomorrow night!”
Coming home is like that. It’s like circling the bases to win the greatest game of your life. It’s hitting that shot at the buzzer, or catching the pass in the back corner of the end zone as time is running out.
My homecoming continued later in the day while meeting up with all 4 of my kids, their spouses and 11 grandchildren. All of whom I had not seen for over a year and a half. And here the coming home part was to see how “at home” everyone was being together: swimming in the pool, playing ball in the back yard, romping through the house, little ones crying and everyone laughing; eating and drinking and yes, eating someone’s birthday cake.
All these I know makeup the greatest game ever played, and will play still. The coming home part is not complete. It never will be finished. There are dreams to be fulfilled, hopes sometimes crushed, promises to be made, and adventures to be lived. It may not be a perfect game, but when you’re there in that moment it’s as good as it ever gets.
Coming home is not a destination. It’s an ongoing journey. You can live in it every day or choose to ignore it. But it’s there, waiting and ready for you to claim it, to live in it. You can tear it down or build it up. The choice is yours and the choice is mine. Let’s choose coming home.
