Going home can feel different
8.3.2010
I remember walking out on a frozen pond that though familiar felt unsure – each footfall needed assurance as I moved; assurance that I could put my weight down because again, although it was familiar it felt different.
Another difference in returning home is that things feel “smaller.” Because my perspective and experience have widened things like rooms or a school and sometimes even people seem to have shrunk somehow. Because my life and thoughts have broadened, and because more people and memories have found places in my heart, it seems less space is devoted to former things. Though no less precious compared to the new they yet feel as if they occupy a smaller part of my thinking and feeling.
A third difference is more painful - that some people may not accept that I have changed. They may “want the old me” or “liked old me” better. I am not controlled by their expectations though I love them. They may choose to grow with me just as I may have to choose to “catch up” with some others. But in reality I am not the same and I can not go back the same way I came out.
Walking on ice, accepting things as being smaller to me without comparing negatively to my new experiences and perspective, the fact that I need to cope with the possibility of me not being accepted and my own need to get to know people all over again can make “going home” re-entry confusing.
All of this is part of growing up and becoming more emotionally whole as an adult. I learn to relate to others as adult to adult instead of child to parent or acting parental or condescending, and perhaps most importantly—no more whining.
Rather than expect them to pick back up old places and roles: Listen to their story—all of their story—respond in a way that shows you value them and their journey-ask how you can become part of the new chapters.
Hopefully I can find a hearing-heart-someone who will walk through these uncertainties and more especially the sorrow places in my heart, being a good listener—not just a teller. Hopefully I can have a hearing heart to others as well. We will tell our stories and listen to those who want to tell us theirs without feeling the need to fix or change what obviously has changed. Good friends remember that things can never be exactly as they used to be because we are changing.
Remember that we will all benefit through the shared pain and rediscovered joys of why we loved a particular place, people and experiences.
We still love the “old” even more dearly though things may feel “smaller.”
And we love those who have been “large” in our hearts, and are now far away. Love is like that—familiarity diminishes love but absence does make the heart grow fonder. So our shared love and memories go with us, the same way our families and “hometown” came with us into this season.
In going home we find that both we and home have changed. What has not changed is that all the shared moments of faith, hope and love are not lost or over. They are eternally gathered and shared in the heart of God. And we will meet there again and always. For He is our true heart’s home.
PD
Another difference in returning home is that things feel “smaller.” Because my perspective and experience have widened things like rooms or a school and sometimes even people seem to have shrunk somehow. Because my life and thoughts have broadened, and because more people and memories have found places in my heart, it seems less space is devoted to former things. Though no less precious compared to the new they yet feel as if they occupy a smaller part of my thinking and feeling.
A third difference is more painful - that some people may not accept that I have changed. They may “want the old me” or “liked old me” better. I am not controlled by their expectations though I love them. They may choose to grow with me just as I may have to choose to “catch up” with some others. But in reality I am not the same and I can not go back the same way I came out.
Walking on ice, accepting things as being smaller to me without comparing negatively to my new experiences and perspective, the fact that I need to cope with the possibility of me not being accepted and my own need to get to know people all over again can make “going home” re-entry confusing.
All of this is part of growing up and becoming more emotionally whole as an adult. I learn to relate to others as adult to adult instead of child to parent or acting parental or condescending, and perhaps most importantly—no more whining.
Rather than expect them to pick back up old places and roles: Listen to their story—all of their story—respond in a way that shows you value them and their journey-ask how you can become part of the new chapters.
Hopefully I can find a hearing-heart-someone who will walk through these uncertainties and more especially the sorrow places in my heart, being a good listener—not just a teller. Hopefully I can have a hearing heart to others as well. We will tell our stories and listen to those who want to tell us theirs without feeling the need to fix or change what obviously has changed. Good friends remember that things can never be exactly as they used to be because we are changing.
Remember that we will all benefit through the shared pain and rediscovered joys of why we loved a particular place, people and experiences.
We still love the “old” even more dearly though things may feel “smaller.”
And we love those who have been “large” in our hearts, and are now far away. Love is like that—familiarity diminishes love but absence does make the heart grow fonder. So our shared love and memories go with us, the same way our families and “hometown” came with us into this season.
In going home we find that both we and home have changed. What has not changed is that all the shared moments of faith, hope and love are not lost or over. They are eternally gathered and shared in the heart of God. And we will meet there again and always. For He is our true heart’s home.
PD
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