To show the kids our old stomping grounds!
Where I lived in grad school, where the music building used to be before The Flood. The parish school where I taught. The church where Joe and I married and attended daily Mass. Our first apartment. The restored Grant Wood stained glass window. The dear, dear friends we left behind when we moved to Minneapolis. The ones with whom it's almost too painful, even in the day and age of connection, to keep in touch because I miss them so much.
It was a homecoming of sorts, though I lived in the area a mere four years. To see what I left behind, wonder if I should have gone there in the first place, wonder if I (we) ever should have left - all poignantly bittersweet. This is where my life changed, where I came back to the faith of my heritage, where I prostrated myself before the mercy of God and begged to do His will, not my own. So I trust. I trust that I heard His voice in my heart and correctly understood His will for me.
My confirmation - my little Jesu. Effortlessly holding the world in his left hand, bestowing peace with his right. Serenely gazing on my family and all our trials. He's got the whole world in His hands, even mine.