Coming Home

I awoke early yesterday morning in Spokane, WA surrounded by mountains and a chill in the air. I loved my time there. The city is clean and the views are picturesque. I do love the mountains but yesterday morning I loved the thought of coming home more. In the past five days our mission team traveled close to five thousand miles. We were all ready to come home.

Spokane boasts two college universities and two or three other smaller community colleges. I love college ministry and college students. One person estimated that there are tens of thousands homeless teenagers and children. As I have mentioned in other blogs Spokane is one of the most unchurched cities in our nation. People who live there love the outdoors and spend their weekends hiking, fishing, hunting, canoeing, camping, biking, and enjoying the great outdoors. It is easy to see why.

Waking up to that panoramic scene of mountains, blue skies, cool temperatures, green grass, towering trees, and beautiful flowers treated my eyes and soul to something akin to a Thomas Kincaid painting. It was candy for my eyes. The more I looked and beheld the beauty and majesty of God in creation the more my soul began to burn and pant for Him.

Even though I have rarely seen such a beautiful place alas it is not my home. Flying in yesterday afternoon into the Midland airport I spent several minutes contrasting the geography of west Texas to Washington State. As far as I could see from the plane window I noticed flat dry ground. There were no trees or mountains. When the plane touched down I knew we had finally made it home.

I walked down the familiar hallway through the terminal and down the stairs to baggage claim. Outside the windows I saw Ricky Mills and our old familiar white church van. We stopped in Andrews and ate at Taco Villa where I enjoyed a combination burrito with sour cream. One bite and I knew I was home. I took a tiny sip of peach tea and once again I knew I was home.

I spent our time driving from the airport studying for the Wednesday night Bible study. While away I missed both my families. I missed Brenda and the boys dearly. I also missed my flock. Though I preached on Sunday in Humboldt, my mind drifted back to Seminole. I missed standing behind the hand made pulpit on that wooden stage and looking out over a people I have strived to get to know and grown to love. I missed them.

When we pulled into the church parking lot and I saw the sign, the parking lot filled with cars, and old familiar buildings I knew we had made it all the way home. This church is more than buildings. These people who make up this congregation have captured our hearts. Mountains can never substitute for relationships.

Brenda came to pick me up so I could see the boys as they were getting out of school. Turner was the first to see me. He bounded around the corner at a full sprint toward me. Several feet away he bounded into the air and landed in my arms wrapping his arms around my neck and laying his head on my shoulder. That moment will long be etched in my mind. You will recall Turner cried just before I left. I thought and prayed for him often while I was away. This sweet reunion is what coming home is all about.

Brenda, was a sight for sore eyes. I missed her. I missed her sweet smile, gentle voice, her laughter at my silly jokes, and getting to share all those experiences with her. She has been much more than a wife. She is my ministry partner, soul mate, my confidant, and my very best friend.

The other boys were glad to see me as well. Tucker kept sitting by me in the house bringing me up to speed on all that had transpired in his life over the past week. Coming home is sweet. How can I describe feelings to sit in my chair, sleep in my bed, and to sit on my front porch.

I ended the day by doing what I born to do. I taught our Wednesday night study. We are studying the book of I John. The study of doctrine and spiritual meat satisfied my travel wearied soul. I love getting to feed this flock for they hunger for the word of God. What a joy to get to come back home.

They say home is where your heart is. My heart is in Seminole. My home is in west Texas. I could not always say that. We have lived and ministered in many different places. Now, here I am pastor of this prestigious church in this little west Texas town. I am contented beyond words to be seated at this desk, in this chair, in this office, in this building, in this town to study, pray, and to write.

Have to run. It is 6:48 a.m. and the National Day of Prayer for Seminole starts in two minutes. I’m late but I’m also home.