One thing I don’t miss about Kansas: the wind. I woke to the world, in time to take over the wheel and navigate Highway 400. A wave of nostalgia swept over me as I scanned the horizon—something I’d not done since we moved from the land of the big sky in October. But I was soon reminded, during a walk with Damaris, that wide open spaces come with wind—in abundance. Hair that was long and curly when I headed out resembled something of a discarded bird’s nest when I returned.
Road trips have evolved enormously from the days when I was a youngster. Imagine me, pointing my cane and muttering, “When I was a youngster, we listened to cassette tapes and colored in coloring books, and kept plenty of quarters around for payphones on trips home for Christmas.” I spent most of this trip, busily catching up on e-mails connected on my laptop through an AT&T wireless device. Papa read out our speed, elevation, time, longitude and latitude from the GPS wired into our windshield—in between chatting on his Bluetooth, of course while Mom enjoyed the Christmas music I’d ripped to an mp3 player. The only improvement I could think up would be “in-flight” fueling.
Upon reaching the Willises, I had high hopes that someone would comment how much I’ve grown. No such luck. Some growth simply isn’t measured in inches.
The uprooting, far from setting me back, has caused me to turn my face toward the Son and bloom with all my might. I left such a short time ago, a sheltered Kansas girl. I return, overwhelmed by the smallness of the world and the enormity of my Lord. I left, wondering what the Lord had in store for me. I return, knowing His plan remains the same as always—to glorify Him.
But I find I sympathize with my Savior “A prophet is without honor in his hometown and among his own relatives.” Is it a circle? Because I know my own family, my own hometown will watch me critically, smiling and patting me on the head as an eternal little girl, I close myself up inside, shrink back into the stature of a child and try to hide behind memories. It is hardest to share my heart with those who share my life.
Have I grown? I dare not stand next to the measuring tape my own family would hold.
Lord, Thou plants and Thou dost prune
And though the outcome seems not soon
The perfect plan that Thou hast drawn
Becomes more clear with each new dawn.
The measuring tape that others hold
Is not the stature I uphold.
I’ll never reach these plans, save one:
The measure of Thy perfect Son.