Sara Groves on Home
I’m confined by my senses
To really know what you are like
You are more than I can fathom
And more than I can guess
And more than I can see with human sight
But I have felt you with my spirit
I have felt you fill this room
And this is just an invitation
Just a sample of the whole
And I cannot wait to be going home
-- Sara Groves, "Going Home" from the album Conversations
You know how a song will just knock you over the head sometimes? This one did me. Maybe it's because I've been thinking about home, about what makes a place home.
I don't know that I've ever felt, ever really felt, at home. Home has mostly seemed to be just ahead, around one more corner. And what's strange is that the times when it's seemed most imminent have often been times when I'm far away from my own house and my own bed. For example:
- Inside the winding stairs of St. Peter's cathedral dome, wrapped up and contained in the heart of the holy, living stone.
- Along the water, feet in the sand, in the gathering gloom of evening, the Oregon Coast before a storm, the glimmer of hidden light in your eyes.
- In the humid, heavy darkness of the Cambodian countryside, dinner for 8 or 11 or 25, I can't tell, but the stars are shining and faces are smiling in the dim light of one bare bulb.
- The Mojave desert after dark, the night we heard the earth singing.
- When the sun came up over Santa Rosa Island one morning.
In each of these, and a thousand more times that I remember, I've smelled it and seen the light of it as if it were just there, just out of reach.
So what do we have then? Not a place or a particular time, nor company, nor solitude. Something else. Some mysterious presence. Not much is clear, but I know this: I cannot wait to be going home.