It's flooding in Nashville. No sign if the storm's gonna let up. I left the rain in Seattle to come back home, back to where I came from, to the soil that grew me up. Lo and behold, the bottom's fallen out from the sky.
I fully intend on making it to that crawfish broil in Alabama tonight, even though my flight has been delayed in Chicago for three hours. I figure I need to start things right when I land.
I won't be home 'til I get to Chattanooga– not when the plane touches down in Nashville, not in the town in grew up in, not in Huntsville or Fayetteville or anywhere else but the Scenic City, Tennessee.
I don' think home will be what it was when I left it nine and a half months ago. Yes, somehow it will be that same– the same buildings and many of the people faces. Maybe it will be me that will be different, too. How could I be the same?
As the plane is now shaking in the sky, descending into the storm clouds of Nashville, I'm reminded that although home is comfortable, it has its own floods.
May God be with me.
Amen.
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