I had not
been “home” in over a year and previous visits had been short ones. Intentionally. Barry and Hannah have visited more often, but
each time -- well, I chose not to go. The
plain truth is it hurt too much and not going was my way of guarding my heart.
While we
have lived in Texas for almost 7 years now, I’m reminded of what “home” is to
me on a daily basis. Every morning my
sweet boss greets me with a loud “Good morning, Peach!” and even today, most
people I meet here say, “I can tell by your southern dialect that you are not from here. It sounds as if you are from the deep
south.” Yes, as a matter of fact, I
am. And correct me if I am wrong, but
the last time I looked at the map, here in Texas, we are as deep south as you
can get without going to Mexico, right?! (Okay, yes, I get it. Texas is more west and not deep south.) For a
while I became very self-conscious about it and then came to the conclusion
that this is who God made me to be - a girl from Georgia, from the deep south -
with a southern drawl, who loves sweet tea and every Zac Brown song about red
Georgia clay, pine trees and Highway 20.
I miss
Georgia, but most of all, I miss the memories of all that was there for
me. All that was there until now - which
makes my heart hurt. As I write this, I
feel a lump in my throat at the thoughts of visiting the small town I grew up
in, riding in the back seat with my brother as my mom drove us to the same
grocery store every Saturday, seeing the house we grew up in and the long
driveway we would ride down on whatever we could find when it snowed, prom pictures in the front yard, and opening Christmas presents together on Christmas day. To drive by or even visit the cemetery where
my mom and stepdad are buried is just so very painful and honestly, I just don’t
have the courage. They are now gone and so is all that I once
knew of “home” as I remember it.
Today, I’m
glad that like my little dog at the vet’s office, I was picked up at the door to
go “home” and it was so much fun to go to the only existing old style cash only movie theatre in Cedartown, Georgia (where the mom and pop owners will tell you if you don't carry cash with you, just stop by and bring it tomorrow), have some girl talk in the nail salon with my niece, Madison, witness the culinary expertise of my nephew, Brandon, who made a swan centerpiece out of an apple, laugh and share stories about life and raising daughters with my brother, Britt and
his family, visit with my mother's lifetime best friend, share in a devotional from Sarah Young's Jesus Calling with the Bullard family and hold hands as we prayed, be a part of the Bullard girls playing a Duck Dynasty shooting game in our matching pajamas on
Christmas Eve, and our trip to the lake to shoot guns on Christmas day (yes, I sure did). Oh, how I feel blessed to
have these new memories of my time at “home”.
The history
behind my favorite hymn reveals that its lyricist, Horatio Spafford, wrote it following
a family tragedy. Right in the midst of
a heart that was hurting. I’m thankful
that the holes in my heart have been filled with special new memories of “home”
but even more so that …
It Is Well
With My Soul.
With Love,
The Georgia
Peach
