Dorothy Gale of Kansas was famous for reminding us “there’s no place like
home.” Even if it is Kansas. There is something about where we come from, not
necessarily about where we live that binds us to it, and when away from it we
long for it. 40 years ago I left New Jersey and never looked back, but have
been back numerous times. Those who live there day to day don’t notice the
changes, but I did, and do. Someone else lives where Scottie used to live, the
Sweet Shop is now a beauty parlor, and a bank sits where a gas station used to
be. Maybe not a big deal to many, but landmarks form my youth are gone, but not
the memories. Million dollar homes now sit where we used to ride mini-bikes in
fields. Even my junior high school is now a middle school. Roads go through
woods that were once bike paths, and stop lights dot the landscape, or road
scape. But somehow you know where to go, and although it isn’t home any more,
things remind that is once was. Some remind you of why you left, and others
remind you of why you came back. At least for a short visit.
Today is August 7th, no big deal as far as dates go. But to me it marks a
day of returning home from Albuquerque. After 54 days away, leaving on a
motorcycle, taking a 250 mile life flight ride, and being taxied home in the
back seat of a rented Camry, I can honestly say “there is no place like home.”
And with all due respect to Toto, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” We
were home. And at first we noticed changes, but really it was us that has been
changed. I used to think that time went faster as you got older, but really we
get slower. Just two months earlier I had been counting the days till we left,
then we had started counting the days until we got home. And there were times
we never thought we would.
After being released from the rehab center in 5 days, I was supposed to be
there a month, friends of a friend gave us a house in Rio Rancho to live in.
And it became home for us, but we missed home. Our home. We had even started
counting the days, first until August 2, 5 weeks after open heart surgery, my
final release from my cardiologist, then August 6, the day my pic lines finally
came out. Dr. Ross my infectious disease doctor had hinted we might leave
early, but wanted us to stay and be observed. Daily for awhile, with Theresa
being taught in changing my IV meds. We had been counting the days, and August
5th, we checked out of Rio Rancho, with one more night in Albuquerque, at the
Hilton, courtesy of a sweet lady. August 6th, a short 5 minute visit and the
pic lines were out, and we were heading west...a day I thought would never
arrive. I may be in the back seat, but I was going home. And was a little
scared. I was out on my own, with only Theresa to help, without all the
hospital doctors and nurses. I was returning a much different person than when
I left. I had truly left my heart, or part of it in Albuquerque, who would even
begin to understand what we had gone through, when we even didn’t. How many
things and how they changed awaited me. Was I ready?
I had already tired of people, well meaning telling me “they understood”
what I had been through. My answer became, “really, explain it to me, because I
don’t.” And some days I do, some I don’t. I found so many well meaning people
saying the right things, but saying nothing. It wasn’t from the heart, and I
know a little bit about that. See we are trained in church how to react in
certain situations, when to cry, when to laugh, and how to show concern. The
Byrds even sang about those seasons, but until it comes from the heart, it is
just words. Yesterday I caught a man off guard, sticking out my hand I asked
“how am I doing?” He responded “I’m fine,” then realized what I had said and
changed his answer. But his answer about heaven, and where he rather be amazed
me. He rather be here than heaven. And when I mentioned being with God is
better than being on earth, I know, he mumbled something about doing God’s
work. A trained response, not one from the heart. And oh by the way, he is a
pastor. Do we really listen, do we really care? Do we really love Jesus? Do
we listen before we answer?
Or are we like the man on Jeopardy who blurts out the answer, a wrong
answer, before finishing the whole question. I am getting better at listening,
and hopefully my answers are getting better. And I know that truly there is no
place like home. Our heavenly home. But do we desire to go? Are we afraid of
death and what God may have for us? We say we trust, but are our relationships
with Christ no more than religious rhetoric? Do we know about Jesus, or do we
know Jesus?
Crosby, Stills, and Nash had a hit called Woodstock, about getting back to
the garden. Do we seek the garden, the Garden of Eden where Adam walked in the
cool of the day with God? Do we seek to be with God or with his things? Do we
call heaven home, knowing we are sojourners, visitors here but for a short time?
How am I doing? We are told to set our sights on things on high, where God
awaits our return. To be called back home. But until that day, we need to live
expectantly, to miss God so much that we share his love with others. So they
may go too. My two day trip back home seemed to take forever, maybe it was the
back seat of a rented Camry, maybe it was the anticipation of getting home. But
stepping out onto my driveway, and being home brought joy. Familiar
surroundings where I felt safe. The place had changed, I had changed more. I
had a new heart...in addition to the one Jesus gave me years ago. And my desire
is now more than ever to go home to heaven. Even on a good day of riding, I
still seek heaven. And in the bad days, I ask God, “what are you waiting for?
When will I finally arrive?”
Maybe that is why I went out of the city, and back to the country. God has
created a yearning in me to get back to the garden. His garden. Where time
won’t matter, only Jesus will. My aorta will not be plastic any longer, and all
of us will be perfect. Except for one. He will bear the scars of our sin. And
it is him I want to see most. To thank him for my new heart, and saving me
from death. For giving me life. And suddenly it will all be worth it. For
behold the past is gone away, and I will be that new creature in Christ. In
heaven. Forever.
Not whatever, but forever. For now I will celebrate August 7th, the day I
returned home. Just as I celebrate June 25th, the day I got a new heart. But
really I celebrate everyday because Jesus is in it. Kings and kingdoms will all
pass away, but there is still something about that name. And I can’t await to
get there. I hope you do too. What a long, strange trip it has been.
And I wouldn’t change any of it. And you know, Toto knew, and it wasn’t any
surprise to him either. Will it be for you?
Now, where did I leave my ruby slippers?
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com