Coming home….

Coming home….

Paul Pitcher – Guatemala

What does the word home mean? As of January 2006 I have no permanent residence, that is to say I am kind of in limbo having moved out of my apartment in Guatemala but still not having established myself in a new house, building, trailer, etc.

Paul Pitcher – Guatemala

What does the word home mean? As of January 2006 I have no permanent residence, that is to say I am kind of in limbo having moved out of my apartment in Guatemala but still not having established myself in a new house, building, trailer, etc.

I find that when someone asks the questions: Where are you from? Where do you live? Where is your home? Do you get homesick? Or any such combination of words, I usually stutter at first and come up with some sort of rambling, extended explanation of my situation that probably confuses more than answers the question. I traced most of my rambling to the fact that I have never really thought, in depth, about the significance of the word home. On the outside it seems quite simple and straightforward but I found that its roots go much, much deeper.

The word home has warmth to it that surpasses just the physical location of where someone hangs his hat, so to speak. It makes me think of a blazing fire to soothe the spirit on a cold winters eve, of a simple meal shared around a table, of laughter leaping from peoples hearts, of memories made and remembered from maybe a hole in a wall or an “accidental” crayon drawing on the side of a dresser, of places where people are born and places where people grow old, of a rhythm that seeps into the bones. Think of that sigh that comes into your heart after a long days work when you can finally say “I’m home”, it is that kind of gentle rhythm. I have come to believe that home is not just a place but a feeling, a connection to somewhere and, perhaps, something deeper than the, usually, four walls and a roof that sit above our heads.

So where DO I find home???

Three weeks ago my eyes watched, through the misty joyful haze of a few tears, the countryside unfold beneath the wings of the plane as we descended from the clouds. The people in the rows ahead of me could not move fast enough to the exit. I stepped off the plane into Guatemala City and was met by a mass of confusion as the airport is under substantial construction. There are walls where there used to be none and openings that I have never seen before. I only balked for a second at the confusion and, through the new exit maze around the work, found my way out of the airport and into the hustle and bustle of the city. The significance of my return to Guatemala would initially be overshadowed by the responsibility of leading a group from the US around the country

But at last the meaning, the ball of emotions that had been waiting patiently behind the mask of responsibility all came to life when I was sitting on the roof of Hotel Posada San Vicente in Antigua, Guatemala. The group was participating in one final night of reflection, circled around a flower-patterned ring of blue candles with a red one in the center. I didn’t realize how many tears were guarded in the bank vault of my heart yet they all came spilling out as we sat there under the crisp night air. One by one memories, emotions and feelings had been stored while I spent 4 months outside of Guatemala and then over the 12 days as I made my return to the country. And as the understanding finally sunk in the tears came rolling out of my eyes, cascading down my cheeks and crashing to the concrete surface of the roof. I haven’t cried so hard in years but they were not tears of sadness.

It was in that instant on the roof that I realized when I stepped off that plane, it had been like “coming home”; the unavoidable smell in Guatemala City of diesel fuel in the air, the memorable nimbleness of three tiny fingers against my skin as a child puts her hand on my shoulder for the first time, the well-known sorely missed crumbly corn-tinged flavor of a tortilla placed within the mouth, the sight of the random dogs with names that I made up for them like “red-collar, crazy-eye and fleasalot” lining the familiar path up to the ACG office, the sound of marimba music punctuating the air. All of it, the abrupt stimulation of all my senses from one moment to the next sends ripples through my spine and caresses my heart.

My own personal question…

Personally, the question I have really struggled with in writing this piece is why are these emotions so much stronger here in Guatemala than in the other places where I have lived, homes where I have spent many more years? And I have come up with this answer. To me, the word home represents a sense of self, and Guatemala is the place, the country, and the environment where I have finally been able to really find that piece of myself that seemed to be missing for so long. On top of this, Guatemala is the home where I have found a sense of hope that transcends all other emotions and keeps me going everyday. I have lived many places from a 21-flat apartment building in Chicago, to a renovated tool shed on a farm in Michigan, to an attic out in the mountains of Washington, to dorm rooms and student houses in Ohio and even, for a short period a one-bedroom apartment above a dive bar in Utica, NY. While each place has grown on me, while each place has formed a part of my world and my being, none of them has so defined my sense of self as Guatemala and so when I return to these lands, when I walk through the fields, when I hear my name called out, when I see the smiles written on the eyes of my friends here I just know…

Conclusion…

Physically, it is difficult for me to say exactly where home is. I have had and continue to have many “homes”, many residences, many dwellings, many abodes; many places which warm my heart, where laughter comes at me from all angles, where I have grown up, places I find special and places where I can sigh. It seems that I don’t just hang my hat anywhere but sometimes everywhere and Guatemala will forever be one of the most important of these homes to me…**sigh** I have come home…

Pablo

Paul Pitcher is a missionary with the Christian Action of Guatemala (ACG). He serves as a communication and youth worker with ACG.