The Saturday Journal: Home

tathelmillerwriter
5 days ago
4 min read

I watched as she placed her arm around his shoulder--softly rubbing his back. His hair the color of white and gray--many strands hanging loosely while others tucked beneath his baseball cap. The bill of the hat rested low, leaning on the back of his neck. And on the cap--the letters "Veteran" was woven in red, white, and blue.

The children sang the patriotic songs of old. Stood in attention with their right hands on their hearts reciting from memory--the Pledge of Allegiance. And they read poems they had written--giving gratitude and honor to the men and women who have served our country.

This young woman, she decided she really liked this house--the one with the drawer in the kitchen that reminded her of her grandmother's home. Another house, and this man and his wife, they were making the move--over 50 miles from where they used to call home--now to make their home in a different area--different neighborhood. And as we walked through each empty room--the only sounds we heard were the echoes of our voices surrounded by four walls.

And this week I visited both of these houses again--the new owners have moved in, and the houses--well, they are different now. They feel like home.

There was this frame piece of needlework--an antique and vintage shop shared a photo of the framed piece--advertising it for sale on their social media page. The needlework read, "Home is Where the Heart Is". I reached out to the shop owner and she told me the price and I asked her to hold it for me. She said, 'It's not in the best of shape--and if you change your mind when you come to pick it up, you don't have to buy it.'

This antique store is full of treasures from the past and when I walked through the aisles, I wondered--what room did this needlework hang--was it in a place they saw it often--saw it daily. What foods were served from the old dishes that are now for sale or exactly how many children did those ragged quilts keep warm. How long did it take to make these quilts, these baskets?

And the ceramic blue bird and wooden box--the doll with the ragged clothes--did a little girl hug this doll tight each night while the cold of winter swept through the creviced walls. Were these items as simple as they may seem now to us--were they considered the family's only riches--did they cherish them because they were gifts--given with love?

No, it's not the best needlework--this framed "Home is Where the Heart Is". The lace is sewn on crooked--the frame, a little bent and chipped, and that's what makes it all the more--perfect.

Author Jan Karon's books has given her readers countless hours of joy and stories about her fictional characters who live in this little imaginary town in the foothills of North Carolina called Mitford. Jan Karon has written fifteen books in the Mitford series, as well as ten other books related to the characters who live in Mitford.

I recently had the blessing of visiting The Mitford Museum in the little town of Hudson, just outside of Lenoir. One of the many things that makes this museum unique is it is located in her hometown--where she was born, and the building that houses the museum is the very place she went to elementary school. Inside the museum--there are photographs and furniture and special archives relating to her family--her stories--her life--her home.

And while I was in The Mitford Museum gift shop, the lady who works there asked me this question, 'Where're you from?' I said North Wilkesboro and her eyes grew large and her smile--matched the largeness of her eyes. She yelled, 'I'm from that area too! I live close to North Wilkesboro! I can't believe it! I don't think I have ever been working here when someone from my hometown came to visit the museum!

Home. It means something.

During the Veteran's Day presentation, a video came on the big screen--images of soldiers both men and women throughout history--some worn and battered--photos of caskets draped in Old Glory--members of the military kneeling at the feet of loved ones at the graveside presenting the folded American flag to widows, parents--children. Another of a fellow soldier on his knees staring into the Vietnam Memorial Wall. And there were images of many other soldiers--each carrying out their duties--serving each other--serving our country.

And former President Ronald Reagan, his voice spoke throughout as the images flashed one by one--his words piercing straight to the heart. He spoke of the young ones--the older ones--those who never saw home--again.

The veteran--the one with the graying hair--the one who wore the ballcap--the one who walked with a limp--the one who humbly raised his hand when the speaker asked, do we have any veterans with us today? He sat still--almost frozen watching these hard images--listening to the words of the reality of war and death and grief and memories.

And his wife with her arm still wrapped around his back, she slid closer--her arm touching his. Her fingers and hands caressed his back once again--reassuring him with no words--only a touch, as if to say--it's okay--you're okay. You're home.

Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.

In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.

I go to prepare a place for you.

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself;

that where I am, there ye may be also.

John 14:1-3 (KJV)

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