When Homesickness Comes Knockin’

She’s far away. Not as far as she used to be, when it took three days to drive across America to be in each other’s company. But still, far. Seasons change and each one brings memories of days shared together. Fall may be the most nostalgic of them all. Maybe  because it’s always been her favorite; colors changing, days cooling. Or because I know she’s tucked up in a mountain cabin, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of leaves and curling chimney smoke.

Front porch

You’d think by 37 the ache for your mama would diminish, but not so. I’m sure most women would tell that time doesn’t erase love or longing. Michael Buble’s melancholy song “Home” serenades my emotions as I pound out these wistful thoughts, fanning the homesickness to flame.

I won’t whine. My life is spilling over with goodness and grace I can barely contain. I couldn’t ask for a smidgen more than what I have, God’s kindness to me exceeds my expectations.

I never expected to be my mama’s neighbor. Once in a while though, I realize that a steely wall has held this reality at bay – each day is precious, when a serious illness has knocked at the door you become that much more aware. Occasionally, I’m caught with my guard down and the ache settles in unexpectedly, surprising me by it’s ferocity. I just want my mama.

Do you ever have those moments? In the chaos of raising a family, pursuing your dreams, paying the bills do you find yourself missing home? Or maybe you’ve never had a close relationship with your mom and you miss what might have been.

I think I miss my mama’s hands the most. Her tucking in tight, cooking yummy food, holding one of mine, puppy petting, hello waving, berry picking hands. It’s strange to have one foot in being a mama and one foot in needing a mama.

sepia hands

Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last; but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised. Reward her for all she has done. Let her deeds publicly declare her praise. Proverbs 31:30-31

Just for today won’t you indulge me on my wistful meandering down memory lane. Will you share with me a favorite memory of your mother, or perhaps a woman who has been like a mother?


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