Finding A Resting Place

This past Tuesday morning I flew into Portland, Oregon, my hometown, the place where I grew up.

And I have to say — there really is no place like home.

I mean, truly, Nashville is starting to feel like home in a really good way. But the kind of “home” I’m talking about here is a place that holds memories and favorites and relationships with people who hold me, even when I’m absent or ugly or out of sorts.

This is Portland. And, for me, Portland will always be that kind of “home.”

My brother picked my up from the airport, all bearded and in flannel, just as I might have expected (the “Portland uniform” as I like to say) and drove me to lunch before a meeting I had. We ate Mexican food while he told me about what he’s been doing these days.

I couldn’t help but think how I’m so proud of the man he’s becoming (which sounds weird to say about your older brother, but its true).

After lunch, I met with my friend Amy, who also happens to be a public speaking coach, and we spent the next few hours talking and laughing at the videos of me practicing vocal inflection and movement and gestures and eye contact.

It was a ton of work, but it was so satisfying because I get to do what I love, and I get to do it with friends.

I feel so blessed to be where I am.

Then, I met my sister, who is my twin in terms of looks but not necessarily in terms of personality, so it’s a miracle we’re best friends (but we are). We have the most wild and beautiful relationship. I learn more from her than I do from just about anyone else.

We talked and laughed and gave each other hugs that only sisters can really give, and then drove to meet our other sister (who we inherited when my brother married her a few months ago) and our mom, and we all ate frozen yogurt until our lips went numb.

What a gift it is to be in this place that will always, in a way, be home.

I spent the next day at a building that was very familiar to me — the place where I went to high school, and then where I taught high school years later. I’ve wandered those halls and grown up in those rooms, so being back there felt special to me.

Especially since now I was sharing with students what it feels like to chase your dreams. And achieve them.

It feels so good to be home.

It’s a peaceful place…

A resting place…

A place where I can lay down the notion I have to “try hard” to be accepted, and just relax into the understanding I already am. More places should feel like this, and something about coming home makes me realize that more places can feel like this.

This is not a location or a destination outside of myself. It’s something inside of myself. I can access it no matter where I am.

And so, this weekend, I’m praying you will be able to find a place (outside yourself or inside yourself, or both) that will feel like this, that will be a resting place, a place where you can let your guard down and come “home.”

I pray you’ll know you don’t have to try hard to be accepted; that you don’t have to perform to feel loved.

You are loved.

You are accepted.

Where is “home” for you?

The post Finding A Resting Place appeared first on Allison Vesterfelt.