Carry That Weight

“Religious insights have to be carried over a long distance to reach expression, and they may easily shrivel or even perish on the way from the heart to the lips.”[1]

This is a companion discussion topic for the original entry at

Yes, that moving van has been in front of my house too - five times, and that’s not counting a couple moves when it wasn’t needed because we didn’t have anything to move - a suitcase sufficed. But unlike you, both my mom and dad were with me for the first few times - and then I was on my own. This makes for an interesting life paradigm. I have never known where my home is, other than where mom and dad were to be found at the end of the day. While this sounds like an insecure situation, it wasn’t. Except for the many good byes, I could always reach out and find the two hands I needed to hold. Funny thing, I still feel them squeezing my hand when the going gets tough.

For some reason I distinctly remember my dad washing my little hands with his big ones. I remember how that felt such along time ago. When I found myself next to his bed in the hospital and the time had come to say yet another goodby, I shoved my hand into his just one more time; but it told me I was on my own now.

I’ve stopped looking for my home at this point. Wherever the sun shines and the rain pours will do, and I don’t mind.


Thank you, Barry and Sirje, for these very moving childhood memories and for reminding us of the things of the heart that words cannot wholly express.


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