My Home Town

“This is my town!  I can’t believe it!” our youngest exclaimed as we drove through Knoxville on our way to her new job, new school, new classroom.  I couldn’t help but think back to the day, nine years ago, we brought her to Knoxville, to U.T. to begin college.  This baby of mine, this tall drink of water, seemingly so young and I was about to drive away and leave her and forevermore my life would be different, changed, never again the same.  Now, this was her town, her home, she had, through bravery, hardships, challenges and even brushing death, carved out a life for herself, made a homestead, settled her part of East Tennessee.  Now she was a professional, she had earned the right to join the ranks of the hard-working, to ply her trade, to cast her bread upon the water.   When we had dropped her off at UT, set up her room, did the small talk that always precedes the inevitable, held hands and laid her gently into the arms of God, kissed goodbye, and left her standing in her room on the 9^th floor of her dorm.  Betty and I were walking away and I told Betty to go on and I would meet her at the van.  I turned to go back and say one last goodbye, one last hug, one last look.  As I opened her door and walked in, I caught her leaning over her refrigerator straining to the side of her widow hoping to get one last glimpse of us.  That image has never left me, the tie that binds, being loosed.  It is one of the fundamental pictures of my mind, it defines love for me, a love that a father has that can never quite let go, can never quite live in peace, is always vigilant, always on guard, always; duty first.  There are five brave women in my life, of which she is one.  This is now her town, and she can believe it.  She, a child of God is now a woman of God.