This photo of my friends in Dulac, Louisiana, reminded me of my parents. Such delightful people! Home for them as it was for Jesus, "a place to rest one's head" no matter how small or humble!
When I was 5 years old, my parents and 4 brothers moved into a two-bedroom apartment on the 5th floor of the government housing program back home. We called it "Planning and Housing," "Planning" for short. They are, as I describe, the step-sister of the American "Projects" on the East Coast. We stayed there for 7 years. Every evening after supper, my Chinese father and I would listen to the BBC followed by classical music: Bach, Mozart and very often, we were awed by the operatic voices of Maria Callas and the popular Mario Lanza. It was my first introduction to the classics.
Fifty three years later in Massachusetts while we ate supper, my brother Wayne and I followed our father's footsteps listening to PBS and similar music. That time I spent with my brother reminded me of those bucolic days from my childhood. Tired from a hard day's work as a haberdasher, Daddy would speak about the lives of his customers and their problems in the Trinidadian economy of the 1960's. In my child's mind, our home, though tiny, was larger than life filled with resounding voices of the BBC filtering through our warm Caribbean evenings.
Daddy always knew I would travel abroad and meet many different peoples. But I don't think he had any idea of the experiences I would encounter from a small dot in the Caribbean sea: to New York to London; to Paris to Berlin; to Zagreb to Rome; to Hong Kong to Krakow; to Budapest to Bosnia and many more - places, languages, cultures, peoples whose lives are just as ordinary as ours in that comfortable apartment with its "studio-like" kitchen and petite living room. For me, the memory of family was cemented there.
I am thinking how often Jesus visited the humble home of his friends, Martha, Mary and Lazarus and how much he loved them. Their reward was his friendship and his, I believe, was the love of a family. One thing we all desire is to be able to depend upon our loved ones in time of need. Jesus delayed his visit to the home of his friends having been urgently called by Martha when her brother died. She does not fail to confront him when she eventually sees him. That most powerful question arises in all of us at some time in our lives: "Where is Jesus when we need him?" "Where is God?" It is not my intention to answer those questions as I reminisce about "home." Soon, however, Jesus the friend presents himself. He is there for Mary and Martha.
"Being there" is comforting. "Being there" fills the emptiness even when a person is not present. As you and I think of what home means, space does not matter. Love does. It resounds and wafts on gentle breezes! And if a home isn't close by ...
"Find a place to rest your head and re-discover your heart!"
One often wonders why almost everyone is intent on "keeping up with the Joneses"? All that really matters is "meeting up with Jesus." At least, that's the way it seems to me. Today, I feel rich compared to when I was a kid. Papa never owned a car in his entire life. Mama thought she was rich in her old days (she died in 1992 at almost 101 years of age) because she received a small Social Security check. Life does not have to be plush to be "rich." Love Jesus and everything will be given to you. Perhaps not every "want", but every "need."
ReplyDeleteYour memeories of family are warm, happy, and contented with a humble home. Your childhood life have given you a wonderful perspective to be at home where the heart resides. Thanks for offering a way to be at home with oneself.
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