Pilgrimage

Webster’s dictionary defines “Pilgrimage” as: a journey of a pilgrim; especially: one to a shrine or a sacred place.

As I journeyed back to the place of my birth, I felt as if I was visiting a sacred place. Time is such an odd bedfellow. It tramples memories and pasts at break-neck pace, yet the present seems to confound the amount of time that has truly passed. As I stood on soil that hypothetically could have been ground my 19 and 21 year-old parents could have trod … I felt a sacred connection to them. Past and present collided.

From my Dad’s memories, I calculated what I believe to be the house he and my Mom lived in for the first year of my life. I imagined them laughing together. In my mind’s eye, I saw my pregnant Mom walking down to the nearby pastry shop. I had visions of my Dad driving their tiny Fiat toward Vicenza, the Army base 2 hours away from their home and my birthplace. I tried to envision life 43 years ago. It was sweet … and sacred.

There is a certain truth about getting older. There is a deeper sense of who you are … and where you come from. Having never seen where I came from, it was a missing piece that I wanted to put a picture to …create a memory of … to wrap my head around. Now, I’ve done that.

I am left now with quite reflection as I pictured and empathized with my young Mom. I could physically see places she would have seen. I got to experience the vibrant hospitality of the locals. I got to drink in the culture of that quiet and charming place.

There is sacredness to seeing the place where it all began for me … and my parents. There were no lightning bolt moments, no rockets, and no fireworks. But, somehow just being there, I have a bigger picture of myself … and of my parents.

Perhaps one of the most profound things that happened to me was the day our friend, Pam, took us to a local vineyard. While there, we met several Americans who live and have lived in the area for many years. They were having a brunch with the vineyard owner and quickly extended empty chairs and plates for us to occupy. As we talked and discovered one another, they knew a very prominent local figure that was born in the same village I lived. As I exchanged some basic geographical landmarks my Dad could remember, they knew the places of which I spoke. As we were parting company, one of the older men, Don, grabbed my hand and said, “Welcome home.” It was profound. This place I never knew felt like a place of “home”. When he uttered those words, I felt so moved. My head instantly fast forwarded to a day that will someday come. One day, I will enter my true home, one that Jesus has prepared for me for a very long time. As I enter this place, I know I shall see a baby Chris and I lost, I will see my Mom, and then I know I will see my Jesus … face to face. What a deeply intense moment that will be when He grabs my hand and says to me “Welcome home.” I will finally be at a place I’ve never been but was always meant to be … I will be home. Home will be sacred … and I will be complete.

Reflecting,
Christina

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