You can lead a horse to family…

I’ve heard it said that home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you. Others call this family. Home. It’s who not where. Less about geography. More about community. (Community is a word that stands on tired old legs I know, but it still does the trick.) Call it what you will, there’s something special about folks with a sticky faithfulness to each other. It seems my whole life I have had the privilege and pleasure of life with such as these. Kindly grandmothers. Wisecracking uncles. Parents of the most supportive variety. Cousins and siblings, nephews and nieces. Some of these good people share DNA with me while others couldn’t be more unrelated. I find myself well networked. More than a handful would take a bullet for me. I’ll save you Mr. President! Gravity continues to pull me into the orbit of these dear ones. It just happens.

Why is that some of us can’t help but fall into family of best variety while others have yet to taste such goodness? There are several in my circle who don’t even know they are in my circle. (Please don’t ask for me to draw this circle as I am convinced it is actually more amoeboid and I can hardly see the edges in some spots) I sit there perplexed. I see mouths move. Sound waves must still be flowing but I am fading somewhere else. She says she doesn’t fit in. He says he has no friends. They say it’s always been like this. Some say this. Others say that. And you. You say what you say what you always say.

Would you know family if it knocked on your door? Slapped you fierce on the face? Punched you in the guts? Took hostage your heart? Seriously, could you recognize community if you saw it, heard it, felt it, got a good whiff of it?

In the place I’ve drifted to I come tearing out onto the beach. I wave like a madman and yell at the horizon. I run as far as I can in your direction. I light the signal fires and carve HOPE in the sand. The letters are big so you can see them a long way off. There I stand, peering through the smoke, following your line, praying you’ll change direction. I don’t want to leave but I sure think you’d like to stay.

There’s enough family for everyone. I’m sure of it. Abundant. Lavish. Vibrant. No one need go away empty handed. Gramma on my dad’s side always sent us home with doggy bags. Apparently I always requested one. Can’t remember what they contained – jam jams, plant cuttings, leftover spare-ribs, whatever she could throw together in the minutes it took to get shoes velcroed and jackets zippered. This I know, lots of love went home with me during those days. It was so good to be there that leaving felt right. I’m convinced there’s family like that that for her and him, they and them. It’s there for the taking. Seriously, here’s a little something something to take with you. Take it. For God’s sake, take it.