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Thursday, August 12, 2010

NEVER FORGET WHERE YOU'RE FROM



WHERE HE'S FROM................

He's from an old tree shaded home filled with books and a pocket full of memories and hearing "Quit that". A brother named Bryan and the taste of his mama's hot corn bread and turnip greens.

A place where old people stared down from pictures on the walls. His mind sees today the squirrels running to and from him and Gary as they try to behave and the memories of his mama's chicken and dumplings.

From a place of old dogs, boyhood friends and fresh sliced tomatoes. His heart still hurts from being called a little s.o.b. He's from the place of remembering a much older brother named Doug.

To put to rest and in the past are the times he was told "You ain't worth two cents" and "You ain't worth the powder to blow you to hell". Gone are the old trucks, the horses and his daddy. He's from a place where then and today he can still own a gun.

Alive with joy are his memories of teapots and Mama, her pride in the garden and the meals she lovingly made. Bisquits like none other; fig jam and fresh yard eggs. He's from a place where today he knows Jesus loves him because she first told him so.



AND WHERE SHE'S FROM...

Home...
for a little while
it had been forty-four years since I
stood on this lawn.

We had gone back to a family reunion.
Gone back to the place where I'd lived
for almost fifteen years.

A place where I took my first steps, fell in love for
the first time when I looked into the face of my mother.
Met my precious baby brother for the first time.
A place where I formed relationships,
made friends. Learned acceptance
and faced rejection.

A place where my mind opened up to learning,
to art and music appreciation.
I grew here and grew up here.
I knew security and stability.

Many years would pass before I would know again
the feelings that having a home could bring.

I looked. I searched and so very many times
I pretended.
I longed to give those feelings to my own children.
The people were all in place. Some no better,
most no worse.
But the walls were not as firm.
Was it the walls which made this home?

Don't tell me it was the people.
You just don't know.
They had fallen as many times as the ones to follow.
Scabbed up just the same.
No...

I think it was the thread. The knot always stayed knotted.
Sometimes fraying but never coming undone.
They don't make thread today like they did back then.
It looks the same, in many cases, even better.
It promises to do the same. To perform as well or better
but it is somehow just a cheap imitation.

I don't know what I expected to find when I got back home.
Most grateful was I that it was there at all.
Different people
and the place seemed to have shrunk.
It had become a house. No longer a home.
You could just tell by looking.

Perhaps those who lived there
were looking, searching and maybe
even pretending.
Put upon hard caring for the handicapped one residing in my home.

I found something much different than I had left so long ago
but I found more than I expected to find
It was the memories I had burried;
was able to dig them up and place them back
in my heart.

A place for them to remain safe and private
to be taken out and re-visited time and time again.

The memories...they were the thread
The thread is still strong
I can mend with that thread until
my days are over.

I can teach with that thread
I can spread joy and love with that thread
I can share Jesus with this thread
the threads of my past have made me stronger today.

I'm thankful I have another home today
it was a long time coming.

I like to think of it as one most blessed
a tale of two homes
one I came into
and one I will leave from.

Stopping off houses
until I go to my home
where no thread can break
no lease can expire.



Do you ever stop to remember where you first called home..............It seems the older I get the more vivid are my early memories.
Mostly good ones.
Can you close your eyes and see your home. Can you smell the smells..........touch what was dear to you...
Can you hear your parents call you in from playing?

Do you long to go back
No.....I didn't think so but it doesn't hurt to remember
in fact I think it helps
Helps us to be more thankful of what we have today and helps us reclaim values and traditions that shaped us into who we are today.

Sometimes it's not always good to completely shut the door on the past, perhaps we should leave it cracked open just a tiny bit.

16 comments:

  1. oh Mollye you tug at my heart strings...
    i can see the buckled linoleum that she swept every day...and smell the pine she put in the bucket to wash those old floors...the house was always cool...that maple tree still stands in the front yard...the house is gone...my sister has the property and lives in the house next door...which was my gramm's house...so many memories there too...and yes...those rooms seem so small now but seemed so big to a young child.
    thanks mollye...
    ~victoria~

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  2. Mollye,
    My words here do not compare to what I just read. Words that told a story, words that shaped a life. Such a beautiful, well written post that took me to a place, so dear to your soul.
    Love to you,
    Debbie

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  4. Enjoyed your post! Got me to really thinking back this morning.

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  5. You put it so eloquently....... There is nothing more I can say but Thank You, it was lovely!
    Love,
    Marilyn

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  6. Mollye, I am almost speechless! This is one of the most beautiful and meaningful pieces of writing I have ever read. I could say so much more, but why?...I would have to fill up pages, I think, to express all I'm feeling at the moment. Truly amazing writing!

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  7. This post truly touched my heart. Thank you.

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  8. Oh Mollye,
    So beautifully said. I closed my eyes for just a moment and thought of my precious Mother bandaging my banged up knees and kissing it to make it better and a million other wonderful thoughts.
    Thanks for taking me home with you.

    hugs
    Sissie

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  9. gorgeous and beautiful post Mollye! Such memories are so precious. I can remember smells, etc. and some scents just whisk me back. Some memories are so real that you can feel the whole scene again deep in your heart. Susie xxxxx

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  10. I love to go back to my old home place! It still stands empty and for sale:( After my Dad passed away we put it on the market and as bad as I hated to see it go, I don't like it just sitting there all alone!

    I enjoyed reading about the pasts in your life! I agree that the door needs to be left cracked!

    Have a blessed day dear Mollye!

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  11. i still drive by my childhood home. thankfully, it's nearby, as i never left my hometown. memories flood my heart and soul each time. some good, some not so good. but that little place, that house, will always be home to me.

    thanks for sharing this beautifully and lovingly written piece with us.

    love and hugs,
    terry lee

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  12. Wow Mollye, what beautiful writing and sentiments. I think ones who don't leave the door cracked open never quite realize what good can sometimes come from not so good. While my mom wasn't a huggy, honeychile kind of mom - but what I always remember is that she did the best she could and that's all anyone can do. I didn't realize that until I was in my 50s. But I leave all the doors cracked just a little today. Hugs to you!

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  13. Home will always be mama,5 brothers. the farm, my grandmother and papa. Thank you for the sweet feeling of home that just washed over me as I read your post.
    Dottie

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  14. I get that feeling whenever I go home to Jamaica to visit my grandmother. To me she represents Love. Glad to know your sweetie was able to overcome what does sound like a difficult childhood.

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  15. Great post my friend.......:-) Hugs

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  16. I was raised by grandparents, and when they both died within 8 months of each other, something clicked off. I have met people on the street who I went to school with and don't know them, even after they tell me who they are and remind me of things we did as children. When I lost my grands, my mind shut down for more than a brief period and, although I know the memories must still be there, I can't retrieve them. Wish I could open the door, and not just a crack, either. However, it is posts like this that help me remember just a tiny sliver of what was home when I was young. Thanks for posting it.

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Thanks for taking your valuable time to tell me what you are thinking about!