Going home.

There is something special about going home that takes me back at least two decades. Hey, who am I kidding?  Probably three decades. 

Today I layed in the front yard with my back to the green grass and my face to the sun. I watched an old farmer drive down the city street on a red tractor. I watched a high-school kid leave football practice and drive home on his ATV. My Mom took the dog to the vet without a prescheduled appointment and still got service (in about 3 minutes!). These things don't happen at my adult home. 

Today we also worked at the garden. Holy tomatoes!  On Sunday my Mom and I will probably can whole tomatoes, tomato juice and probably salsa too. I hope Anne and Dylan will join us. Maybe the tradition of canning will survive one more generation. 

I always wonder if we should have stayed in small town Minneosta to raise our family. It's a nagging, reoccurring question without much validity really. It just seems to linger in the back of my mind. The truth is that I believe we are exactly where we're supposed to be. Might it be that if I had never moved away from small town roots that I would never appreciate them now?  Going home is rest. Going home is fellowship. Going home is grace.

Every good and perfect gift is from above. -James 1:17