a dandelions dream

Home. I know that this topic is written about a lot on this blog...but we write what we know...we write what we feel is meaningful...we write what is abundant to us...we write what we feel is a gift to be shared...right?

When driving home today with rain pounding into my little broken down toyota, I thought about how often I talk about 'foundation', 'homebase', 'the process' and so many other things that relate to that. Then I thought...how cliche. How seriously cliche. From about Topeka to Lawrence all that was running through my head was how silly I felt for always talking about these things when I'm constantly struggling with them myself. Then at about the Lawrence exit just when I started to really feel like the past few years have been a broken record-it dawned on me.

These topics are what I know. They are what I feel to be meaningful. They are abundant in my life. They are things that have been shared with me as gifts and I feel that to talk about them and the blessings in others' lives are gifts as well. These things of 'home' 'foundations' and 'the process' are things that are going to be constantly worked in my life...and I'm ok with that. I am really really ok with that. It might be possible that I might feel like a broken record...but it's nice to think back on things. It's like driving home.


Turning past the old blue farmhouse on the corner. The fence you used to climb with the neighbors. The patch of dandelions that seem to grow all year long. That old oak tree with the swing that's used as a landmark instead of signs. The trickles of limbs reaching down for you through the narrow two lane into town and around the corner by the railroad tracks where you used to skip rocks on the wood. These stones are places that visually bring me back to places that I know. Places in my life that are meaningful. Places in my life where lessons were learned. Things were gathered in my memory and heart that I feel important to share as gifts because they were blessings to me. When stuck between a rock and hard place, these nostalgic 'things' wedge me out. Yet, they are brought about not by me nor any other human being.




When I'm here, home, things just seem right. Life is calm. Life is right. Life is straight with flat ground so that I can see clearly over those hills that were once there. Life is how I once knew it before new things creapt in to make me sometimes feel like an awkward sulky teenager again. I miss these good things-When that patch of dandelions was just right around the corner ready to be blown throughout the air.

Home.