They say you can never go home again. I thought I had proved them wrong when I went back to my home town of Ludington, Michigan to speak at a Women’s Conference this past week. I had left almost fifty years ago when I went off to college and never returned as a resident again. There were occasional brief visits, usually in the presence of kids and husband. Neither thought touring the town slowly, reminiscing over each and every block was entertainment and so it was never done.
So this trip, a true gift from God, was something I looked forward to with great anticipation. At last the day came. I flew into the closest airport which is about 100 miles from the small town. I rented a fun little car and drove along familiar highways through fruit farms and over hill and dale (literally), moving farther and farther away from city life. As I rounded the bend, I could see the smoke stacks from Dow Chemical Company where my father had been employed for over forty years. I would learn that the company had been shut down for some time and another lesser known one had taken over. I drove across the marsh, over the train tracks to the intersection where the Kountry Kupboard welcomes campers and tourists to enjoy a home cooked meal. I turned left and within a block saw the sign that said I was HOME. “Welcome to Ludington, Michigan the home of the 1994 Soccer State Champions (Don’t hold me to the details, but I do know it was home of something in the sports field.)
Everything looks the same. The old lumber baron homes have been beautifully maintained. The downtown buildings are the same and at the end of the down town is the most popular building in the county. It is the home of the House of Flavors, once a small ice cream store now a booming restaurant that serves up more sundaes, sodas and legendary malted milk shakes than any place in the world. They have a breakfast, lunch and dinner menu specializing in not just the best ice cream around but also turkey. An interesting combination for sure but it works. The Neal family has run that business since I was about five years old, passing it down from generation to generation and each one adds more room, more creativity and more delicious food offerings.
Two more blocks and I was right in front of the beautiful yellow sandy beach of Lake Michigan. Off to the left and past the break wall sat the Badger, an enormous old car ferry that transports cars, people, trains and anything else from the west side of Michigan to the east side of Wisconsin. Approaching winter, that actually comes about the first of October; the Badger shuts down until spring starts warming things up. I drove up and down each street past my parent’s best friend’s homes. I drove out to Hamlin Lake where as a young person I had kept my small wooden sailboat. I drove through the miles of sand dunes to the state park and remembered as a teen drag racing on that road. It really looked like nothing had changed.
Soon it was time for the conference to begin; I got ready and arrived on time. And there was the first clear taste of the fact that you can’t go home, as you once knew it. Many of my high school dear friends were there. They had changed. No longer were they fresh faced, beauties but mature older grandmothers. Some had lost husbands. Some had lost children. Some had lost health. But they were there and behind the grey hair and the thin lines on their faces, they were my “high school” friends and yet they had spent forty years living lives that I was not a part of and I also have lived life without them.
Ludington as a town has changed very little but all that made Ludington home has changed dramatically. Houses that once welcomed me no matter when I showed up are now closed to my intrusion. Strangers live there now. So many of the people who loved me have passed on. Most of my classmates left after college seeking better jobs and retired people have moved in finding the lake environment compelling. And in the end I was sad and the thought occurred to me that indeed you can never go home again.
At the airport I pulled a little slip of paper out of my coat that Judy had given me at the conference. It had a name and telephone number on it. “Call Tom”, she said. “He wants to say hello”. It was the name another high school classmate.
And so I made the call. The voice answered full of good cheer and before I could identify myself he said “Patsy, I am so glad you called!” And from there we spent the next 45 minutes catching each other up on our lives. And during that conversation I found the answer to my sadness. I am not home. As Tom talked about his wife who had passed away last year he confirmed a deep and abiding faith in the Lord. He spoke with confidence and assurance that one day they/we would all be together. And then we would be home and never have to leave again and there would be no more good-byes.
Ludington isn’t my home, nor is it Beager’s, Joyce’s, Jeanie’s, Barb’s, Judy’s, Sara’s, Deedee’s nor Tom’s. Our home is waiting and as I looked around at those people who I loved even after all these years I saw it is not far away.
Hebrews 11:16
But now they desire a better, that is, a heavenly country.
Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them.
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