What I Missed: The Understory

Nashville, here’s what we missed.

We miss travel and the sights and experiences…and the suspense, and drama, and frustrations, and disappointments—no, actually we don’t miss it. But it can make a story to tell.

We miss Grandma. We miss the house, the giggles, “shooting rabbits.” Sometimes we have nothing to say, but we learn that you never forget the rain. Mostly we miss being there.

We miss our soulmate, and the life-changing relationship. We miss reading books and learning something new, and our link to the outside world. And we miss saying goodbye…and that voice saying “I love you.”

We miss our childhood and the sibling rivalry—the cruel, vengeful sibling rivalry. We miss digging for explosives, playing with weapons, and begging for our lives. But we are grateful that the past is the past, forgiven and forgotten—right Mom?

We miss smiling roommates in the morning, and real coffee, and the land of our faith. We miss spiritual experiences, even as outsiders. And sometimes we miss the very thing we wanted most to see.

We miss family drama, and going home, and echoes of small town in the big city. We miss taking care of personal needs, and stories of Mammy’s filter—or lack thereof. We miss awkward calls from the past, and conversations with Dad. And we miss funerals, and sharing precious life.

We miss years of freedom and intimacy, imprisoned by fear of the inspectors, looking for safety, normality, and survival. And we hope to find fellowship, and love…and ourselves.

We miss what we missed because of how we looked.  If only we weren’t what we see in the mirror, life would be different, better…or would it? Now we want “if only” not to be the last word.

We don’t really miss isolated summers on the farm, the hard work, awkward goat encounters, acres of wire and posts and landfills and bonfires. But we do miss stories of deep pain, and opportunities to be a part of a moment of healing.

Nashville, this is our story.

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