Surely you can't go back to your childhood. That is a time that has passed. Maybe you can't go home to stay. After all--both you and the place from which you come have changed. And yet....
They held the service in St. Anthony Park Congregational Church--the church my parents and my grandparents attended. The church that made me feel at home. As I sat in the pew, I looked around and saw those who had sat in those pews so many years ago: the three old me, all standing and sitting asone--they never sang but they always had their books open and their mouths moving; my grandmother, looking away uncomfortably as our family dog marched into church one warm summer morning; my mother on her ninetieth birthday feted by the church that had been her home her whole life. Towards the end of the reception, I snuck off. I wanted to see the church again through the eyes of the child I was when last I was a part of that community.
That church welcomed me, nurtured me, accepted me, loved me. That church knew me as a beloved child of God and taught me (more in retrospect than at the time) that the God who created a little imp also loved that imp.
My hope, my prayer, for Live at Five and for St. Michael's too, is that we are--both for our kids and for the kids at heart that we all are--a community and a space that exudes the love God has for all God's beloved children.
From the land of ice and snow and lutefisk and lefsa,