Rest For The Weary

This afternoon was a gray, gray afternoon. It was an afternoon spent rummaging through thrift store bins, and outrageous theater cast-offs. It was an afternoon of tea and cookies, and a friendship so old and comfortable; like a pair of perfectly well worn shoes. It was a breath of fresh air, in all the best senses of the phrase. I feel that I may be finally drawing closer to what I want Christmas to be. I have reached the understanding that Christmas will no longer hold the same kind of wide-eyed magic it had when I was just a kid. I have the reached the understanding that many things will not hold that magic anymore. But if I can see what has replaced that, and see not a loss, but the gaining of something new... well, then that would be something.

Today I heard a story on the radio about a homeless man living in New Orleans who had not been home, or seen his family in many, many years. He gave an interview that aired nationally, and his family heard him on their radio many, many miles away. As soon as they knew he was there, and that he was alive, his mother and his son got in the car and drove to find him. They did. They found him all right, and he kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for leaving," and they kept saying, "It's okay! It's okay, We got you. That's all that matters."
The he told them he had wanted to go home for a long time. But he had been too proud to show up after all that, "I didn't want to come home with nothing, and you all think the only reason I come home was because I needed you," he said.
"Honey!" exclaimed his mother in a voice so full of love and exasperation, "that's when you're supposed to come home!"

And I thought, if only everyone knew that.