There is something about being here…
I find it hard to explain. Whenever I talk to people about going home
or the drive home and how it’s my favorite drive ever…
how the same stretch of road, northbound instead of south
not the same,
I think I confuse them. At least,
if they have never known home as a place.
I understand home as a concept of people and hearts and souls connecting,
how walls and concrete and landmarks don’t always have to be a part of it.
But let me tell you something.
When there are walls and buildings…pastures and streams,
trees that your great-grandparents got married under,
churches where people came to know the Lord,
an ancient shady grove that was home to revivals and picnics,
a piece of land once home to a tribe,
hard clay soil turned over and made to produce crops…
when these places co-exist
and carry the memories of those people and hearts and souls — my memories, my parents’ and grandparents’ memories — I’m telling you, that is something.
Sometimes, I think people don’t get it
when I say you couldn’t drag me away from here.
How in my mind I can
fly, fly away
and breathe and live and enjoy
all the rest of the world that God has made, but my feet are like anchors and here I will remain.