Better

It’s fun to leave, but it’s always better to return home

The Tribute Trip is now history. I returned home last night after a long day of travel that included a taxi, airport electric cart service, a three-hour flight, an airport shuttle to the location of my parked vehicle (it took nearly as long to get to my vehicle — 2.5 hours — as it took me to fly from Boston to Minneapolis), and then an hour’s drive home. It was an exhausting day, but when I walked through my kitchen door entrance, I had a very riotous welcome back:

After several minutes of scurrying, leaping and licking, Otis settled back into a more normal state, as did I. My adult son who stayed at my house with Otis while I was gone reported that Otis had been quite restless during my absence. Part of that I attribute to the relationship he and Otis share (it’s quite frenetic and energy-laden), and part of it is his disorientation with my being gone for the first time in his life.

As I reflect on my five days on the East coast, I am glad I took this adventure. I debated for some time about the cost, questioned how my mobility issues would affect me, worried about the emotional toll of revisiting the place where Claudia’s and my married life began three decades ago. Somehow, though, in the crevices of my soul I knew I needed to do this, whatever the experience might hold.

And the truth is this was a mixed experience, as I thought it might be. I loved being near the ocean again, the brininess and humidity in the air reminding me of trips Claudia and I had taken over the years to coastal Virginia and the Carolinas. I had some delicious food, luxuriating in someone else’s preparing it for me, having internal conversations with Claudia about what she would have liked. By necessity I had to push myself physically to do what I needed to do. I chose not to rent a car, so I walked from the hotel everywhere I went, and I have returned with a new pattern that motivates me to move more frequently, in spite of the pain, because at day’s end the reward of aching muscles and tired limbs benefits my long-term health.

And there were, of course, moments when I had to gulp and sigh and breathe deeply, occasionally brushing a tear from my eyes. To my surprise, I didn’t feel as alone as I thought I might. Close family members texted or called or emailed, checking in on me in thoughtful ways. Substack readers (like you) encouraged my journey, then and now. Although I knew no one at the hobby expo I attended, the camaraderie of gathering and being near others who share a similar passion is really quite grounding.

Now I have a little more vacation to enjoy. I return to the pulpit on June 7th, and I know that the Sunday services and other details are in the hands of competent, committed lay people, so I have no concerns. There is such joy in pastoring a congregation with gifted people who know how to love one another and continue to thrive, even in the temporary absence of their pastoral leader.

So here’s my conclusion about the past week: I am better. I feel more situated in my new life, I am more grounded in my location (this is truly home), and I feel more connected with those I love the most and with those who share one of my passions.

It’s good to leave home for a while, but it’s always better to return home … and to return home better.