Thank God for Hometowns

I already touched on our 4th of July visit to the East Coast. It wasn't until about a month later that I heard Carrie Underwood's song "Thank God for Hometowns." I found myself nodding at the chorus:

Thank God for hometowns
And all the love that makes them go round.
Thank God for the county lines that welcome you back in
When you were dying to get out.
Thank God for church pews
And all the faces that won’t forget you.
And when you’re lost out in this crazy world,
You got somewhere to go and get found.
Thank God for hometowns.

I wasn't "dying to get out," but I was anxious to be with my love out here in Washington. Our church was a few towns over, and I certainly didn't know as many people as I would've if we had gone to the public school. But I still love my hometown and there are certainly plenty of familiar places and faces, many of which I recognize though they may not know me--like the librarians that have been there my whole life, or the woman from my childhood church who always plays the spoons on the back of a bandwagon in the Independence Day parade.

I consider the whole state of New Hampshire to be "my hometown" in some way. Each town I drive through has memories or impressions of a particular life stage connected to it. From crossing the border from Massachusetts (on our way north from the Boston airport) to the northernmost towns by our family Camp, it sometimes feels like nothing has changed. Like someone hit the pause button when I left, at least to the places themselves. (When it comes to people, the changes are all too evident--the silver in my Dadda's hair, or the way my sister's little family has grown.)

Many of the towns in New Hampshire are celebrating their 250th birthdays this year. I marveled at them as we drove around the state. Banners across main streets announced the milestone. In my own hometown, the theme of the Independence Day parade was our town history. The floats all featured particular moments or particular landmarks and people of our town. I was thrilled to have Super Husband see it and get a better sense of what this place has meant to me. My favorite was the Sunday Driver Rock, a rock on the side of the road someone (no one really remembers who) painted these words:

(photo not mine)

It's been vandalized and repainted multiple times, and was most recently "edited" by a grammar freak. (Hey, I'm an editor, but even I wouldn't mess with this historical artifact!) Anyway, it was a fun tribute to one of the many quirky, "quaint" things about my hometown.

This little gem was taken on the front porch of our general store. Super Husband and I were sent on an errand and Dodge's Store (also 141 years old, I might add). It almost seemed staged--this beauty parked out front, and two elderly gentlemen sitting on the porch just chatting and "people watching" in our sleepy downtown. I felt a little foolish taking a picture, this Seattlite girl who's enchanted by old New England. But as I walked through that creaky front door to buy a bag of ice for my parents' party, I was "that girl who lives on Town Farm Road" again.

The song says, "I always find another piece of me, Walking down these old familiar streets." Now, I feel perfectly whole in my Lord, and He has eased the pain of homesickness time and time again (as this blog bears witness to). But I "get" these lyrics, because there's an element of rediscovery when you return to where you grew up. I'm faced with who I was, how I changed with the turning seasons, and why I am the way I am! I like the reminder that I came from this place. That no matter where I end up, this will always be where my journey began. And I always tell my parents, they couldn't have chosen a better town to raise a family in.

I hope my kids can say the same. That they'll thank God for hometowns too, maybe even sharing my thankfulness for this same town because this is where Grandma and Grandpa are. We'll see. Maybe someday this suburban/urban living will have a similar sentiment attached to it.