Soul Reunion

~From~ Chapter 1: HOME

…Most memorable, though, was my second cousin’s wedding in the Washington DC area. My husband and I flew from our home in Florida to the Baltimore airport, and promptly began our usual struggle for alpha status beginning at the rental car counter. I handled all the arrangements, and Mr. Control continually peppered me with irrelevant questions as I was just trying to get my hands on the keys and a map. I still don’t understand how anyone thinks men are incapable of multi-tasking. My male did just fine simultaneously injecting himself into a conversation he knew nothing about while checking emails, making business calls and downloading new applications to his phone. I even give him bonus points for charming a toddler in the mix. Well, maybe not. He is inherently charming anyway, so doing that which comes naturally might not count. After all, would he give me credit for falling in love with really cute shoes?

As we loaded our bags into the trunk it seemed as if our attitudes were headed straight down the tubes. In an effort to stop the madness we declared détente and vowed to speak more kindly, lest the weekend be completely ruined. This is not to infer that anyone who has control issues actually surrendered control. Clearly not receiving the information I repeatedly tried to convey, Mr. Control harped that we must stop at a drive-thru for lunch so as to not unduly impose on our hosts immediately upon our arrival. I tried to remind him of the traditions and customs of my family. We’re big, we’re loud, and we’re fairly certain My Big Fat Greek Wedding was created via hidden camera footage from my parents’ 50th Anniversary bash. Also, we eat. We eat big. We love lavish, we love delicious, we love dining! To be exact, when word gets out that our clan is having a major event or celebration, caterers everywhere rejoice. Still, rather than argue I swung into a burger joint, grabbed the goods and continued our drive.

Fifteen minutes later, we walked up to the front door of my cousin’s home, which promptly flung open into a joyously screaming multitude of hugs and kisses. We were passed around like a shiny new toy at Christmas, hugs flying, cameras flashing with the fervor of paparazzi in pursuit of a prize celebrity. When we finally had a chance to stand still I noticed my husband’s dumbfounded expression. I followed his gaze, which rested right smack dab in the middle of the kitchen on the large granite island...overflowing with every kind of food imaginable.

And there it was: The Moment.

There was the very moment I knew I was home. There was the beautiful epiphany when every cloud of frustration seemed to part and the rays of gleaming vindication filled my world. There was the moment I understood that this is my territory, my history, mia familia, my POSSE! There was the moment when all past generations of southern hospitality intersected with my immediate need for application otherwise known as, “I told you so.”

To the untrained eye this whole scenario might seem trivial. It wasn’t. It’s important to understand that no amount of verbal mind jogging succeeded in my efforts to make my husband understand that his hunger needs would be satisfied, and with flourish! He had to walk right up to it and see the evidence face to face. Learning a lesson this way is invaluable. The imprinting of it in one’s mind can only be achieved through experiential learning. Believe me, this man will never doubt again!

The full impact of that weekend extended far beyond that initial “aha moment.” We will treasure each and every moment spent in the presence of this crazed mob. Mealtimes were abundant and sumptuous, loud and long. Each featured a combination of new dishes contributed by various people as well as long standing back-in-the-day favorites. Those favorites were presented with all the pomp and circumstance they deserved, and all in attendance scrambled for a peek at the hand-written recipe card or dog- eared page. So many memories, happy and sad, are bound up in these dishes. If they could speak, oh what stories they’d tell. The loving hands that prepared them for our enjoyment are the same hands in our family that have held us together through divorces, illness, unemployment and loss. These same hands have cheered our accomplishments, prayed for our strength and gently steadied toddlers’ steps. This weekend was an aria of old meets new, past meets present; here is where a blend of many yesterdays nodded towards tomorrow. It was like the life-weathered hands of grandparents being instinctively grasped by fresh newborn fingers, wisdom and knowledge greeting hope and promise.

It was perfection.

I have come to have immeasurable appreciation for such gatherings. The time spent listening to the stories of who we are and where we came from have become the threads of our family’s tapestry, each narrative lending color, depth and dimension to my understanding of how I became the person I am today. More importantly, it has revealed my connection to every past generation and reinforced the relevance of my own life-threads’ binding within the weave. I understand that even the darkest colors have purpose in the loom and produce dramatic framing to the contrasting bright threads of life. The more tightly the threads are woven together, the stronger our fabric becomes. Although it will always be a work in progress, our family tapestry is an incredible work of art.

God has been so gracious to me in the past few months in this same way. I have been blessed to explore the Faith of the Ancients as found in the book of Hebrews, chapters 11 & 12. Each story referenced is rich and textured, and completely relevant to the application of holy living in this challenging world. Examining the threads of our biblical lineage helps us understand where we came from, who we are, and how we ourselves are bound in the weaving of the family of faith. Here we discover our connection to God’s purpose and our importance to His plan.

Every new generation searches for insights in God’s scripture. Most begin their spiritual journey believing theirs will be the generation that rocks the foundations of the church with their indictments of the past and its scandals, and their enlightening revelations for the future. Herein lies the irony that cannot be ignored: we all must look closely at the past, receiving and embracing its lessons, if we want to face the future with confidence and clothe ourselves in the hope that sustains through the ages. The more tightly we bind ourselves to understanding our past, the stronger we ultimately become.

Cynics say history is bound to repeat itself. But anyone can change his destiny if he is bound in devotion to God, through His son and our Savior Jesus Christ! Ignorant, thoughtless words of the visionless masses are no match for the God whose words have the power to speak things into existence. The God we serve provides fullness and completeness for all who choose to follow closely in the steps of our patriarchs. Where is the best place to start? In the beginning...

So now, just like my husband had to experience walking directly into generations of history in the form of a banquet table, let’s take a walk with those who have gone before us. God has prepared a feast for our hearts and souls. You’ve been hungry, and He has been cooking old “family” recipes for a long, long time eagerly anticipating your…