The Quiet Miracle of Going Home

Still Smiling 40 Years Later!

Life has a way of moving us forward with such momentum that we scarcely notice the pieces of ourselves we set down along the way. You leave, you move, you learn. Schooling carries you into adulthood; marriage, work, children, and family carve new chapters; responsibilities reshape your days and sharpen your focus. Each season asks you to release a bit of who you once were so you can grow into who you are becoming.

And yet, no matter how far we travel, geographically or emotionally, those younger fragments never truly disappear. They wait quietly in the background, tucked inside familiar streets, old classrooms, shared laughter, and memories softened by time.

On my recent trip home, I didn’t expect anything extraordinary. Just a brief visit, a chance to walk through the city that shaped me and gather inspiration for the next stage of my writing journey. But life, as it often does, surprised me with something far sweeter.

What began as a simple homecoming turned into an amazing reunion with friends from elementary school—friends who knew me long before the layers of adulthood settled in. There is something profoundly grounding about reconnecting with people who remember the earliest version of you: the child with big dreams, unpolished edges, and so much innocence ahead.

As we settled into our familiar rhythm, it was fascinating to revisit some of those moments we once shared, and suddenly it was no surprise at all that we bonded to one another the way we did. Illuminating those memories with the clarity of time, we discovered what a huge support and joy we were to each other in the very beginning of our stories—a foundation of friendship laid long before we understood its importance.

We laughed about the past, marveled at the decades that somehow slipped by, and felt that wonderful sensation of picking up right where we left off. No pretense. No catching up required. Just connection—pure, familiar, and instantly comforting.

We all have a past we step away from, sometimes intentionally and sometimes simply because life moves us forward. But returning to those early landmarks—the neighborhoods, the friendships, the memories that built our foundation—can feel like gathering pieces of yourself you didn’t even realize you missed.

These moments remind us who we were, illuminate who we’ve become, and gently bridge the distance between the two.

As I walked through beloved streets and embraced friendships that have outlasted time, one phrase kept echoing in my heart: Amazing grace, how sweet it is.

Grace for the journey. Grace for the years that carried us apart. Grace for the gift of returning—and rediscovering—the parts of myself I thought I’d outgrown.

I left home decades ago, but this brief return stitched together something tender and important. It reminded me that every place we’ve lived, every friend we’ve loved, every season we’ve survived becomes part of our legacy. And sometimes, the greatest blessing is the chance to come back, even for a little while, and gather those pieces once more.

I’m enormously grateful for this homecoming, for the friends who welcomed me as though no time had passed, and for the beautiful reminder that our stories—no matter how scattered—always find their way back to us.

Here’s to the places that shaped us, the friends who remember us, and the grace that carries us home.