roots

"Have fun traveling back to your roots" were the words Priscilla gave as we parted with our bags packed - her bags destined for Norway, mine for Northern California.


Her choice of words was not only appropriate, but for me had hidden depth. Roots. Not "home." Roots. Most of my biological family and childhood memories reside here, so there's a sense of "home" upon returning, but home, it is no longer. Rich, treasured roots, and beloved family, yes, but home, no. I'm coming upon my five-year anniversay in Florida. Florida is now my home. No, not just because of the length of time I have now resided there, but because the Lord has opened and reveled many parts of my heart; He has given me a whole new sense of family; And, this is where He has given me to call home for now. Someday a desire of my heart will be met as I stand at the altar, look into the eyes of the man taking me as his wife, and say, "Where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried." At that point "home" ... well, we'll see :)

In the midst of our descent into the Sacramento valley yesterday, the boys in the seats next to me had all kinds of observations they were sharing from what they saw through the window. "Whoa, is that water? Did it flood? I don't see rain clouds."

The teacher in me just couldn't stay silent. "Certain crops are flooded and irrigated as a part of their growth and harvesting."

"Dude, look at that hangglider! There [pointing], see him?"

I turned back to them, "That's a crop duster." The small-town farm girl was smiling within me.

"Do you live here or something?"

I felt like I was in one of those scenes in a movie when someone later in their life reflects back over a time back in their yesteryear and after a long pause replies, "I used to."