What Is It For You?

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It still does it to me, the smell of popcorn. It reminds me of home.

Home wasn't a zip code, a particular house, or the number of years in a place for me. Those changed and there were many.

Rural American bullfrogs bellowed from the cowponds, and I climbed high into a green apple tree. Corn fields rippled for miles, tall honey-colored grasses swayed, and lawn mowers droned sleepy in the distance.

In another setting, mango trees swayed high above our cement block house, while tropical rains hammered and crashed on our metal zinc roofs in a way that still leaves me nostalgic. Rice bubbled over coal pot fires, and neighbors chopped sugar cane stalks, throwing a chunk to the monkey pet nearby.

You know it too. That smell, sight, or sound that reminds you of home. Because no matter what state or country we were in, my mom and dad made it home with a few simple touches. Scrounging up batteries or electricity, they slipped in some family-favorite musicians and suddenly music slid through the house. Familiar refrains from Bruce Cockburn, Kansas, Pink Floyd, Phil Keaggy, and Michael Card peeked around corners, explored new houses, and traipsed over our luggage to each of our family of five. Instantly, our shoulders relaxed and we stretched out our legs.

Mom popped popcorn, shaking kernels at the bottom of any large pot she found, fiercely holding down the lid, as corn rattled in the oil and exploded. She shook her hips and torso in an attempt to give every kernel a chance at the heat and oil; we watched my dad watch her and smile or steal up for a kiss.

And suddenly, we were home.

 My blogging friend, Emily T. Wierenga, award-winning journalist and author of 4 books, has released her first memoir, Atlas Girl: Finding Home in the Last Place I Thought to Look. I was honored to read a sneak preview of the first two chapters before it was released, and now I am scarfing down my newly-arrived full-length copy of the book, and enjoying it. You can grab a copy here. All proceeds go to Lulu Tree in Africa. #Atlasgirl

French Ink on Skin

His muscular hands have always been beautiful to me.

In my first year of college, we were just getting to know each other, and learning to trust. Love was a fledgling word, afraid to be voiced aloud. It shimmered instead through our eyes, wonderingly. We determined that once said, it should mean commitment --not a word to be bantered with.

So the word grew inside.

We conversed for hours, a group of us on the third floor student center. People wandered away, left for their dorm rooms, and still he and I talked.

My third culture kid heart still dreamt in French, missed the Alps, and reminisced about West African food. He was from Duluth – with stories of blizzard snowstorms hiding cars for three days, and frost capable of freezing your eyelashes shut.

We spoke of futures, wondering if they would meld, and I sketched French phrases on his hand. “Suis-je la tienne? Es-tu le mien?” (Am I yours? Are you mine?) French ink asking the questions I wondered. Could someone really love and commit to someone else for life? Was it safe to trust and hope?

These penned phrases came to mind again recently when I read some verses in Isaiah.

One will say, 'I belong to the Lord’… still another will write on his hand, ‘The Lord’s.’

Later, God vows, ...I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands. Study notes say that the word "engraved" here means "carved into." The Creator has carved our names onto his hands.

The rolled parchment of Isaiah was written in the 700s BC. Jump ahead three hundred years later to a carpenter with strong, calloused hands striding along cobbled Roman roads. In a room crowded with people and a table spread with Middle Eastern fare, he laid his hands wide. "See the carvings in my hand?" he asked. Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.

I belong to Him. It's written on my hand, and carved into His.

And the college man? He types here beside me, and together we learn daily how to love each other like our Creator loves us.

What about you? What helps you remember whose you are? What have you been reading or pondering lately?