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Two weeks ago I couldn't wait to escape out the door,
leaving all the stress of my job behind me. But Monday morning the eagerness
was in the other direction – I couldn't wait to return.
Back at the Ruralite Cafe Norman unsnapped his trusty black lunch pail
and pulled out his livermush sandwich.
Jeff Harlow punched microwave oven controls to warm over the chicken
wings he cooked the night before.
James brewed a fresh pot of coffee while Sandy regaled everyone with
her tales of someone's latest escapade.
Frosty's out in the woods trying to kill a deer so he'll have plenty
to sandwich between two slices of bread. The camaraderie and gaiety
lacks its full banter without him and Jeff Rhyne, always one to challenge
and enliven a discussion, who is home recuperating from chemo treatment.
On vacation I missed the distant hum of the presses, which seems like
a rhythmic heartbeat, and the whiff of ink that not only stains your
hands but seeps into the blood pulsing life through your body.
In two weeks I completed a long journey, traveling back in my life –
even to my earliest childhood recollections to discover where I picked
up all the heavy baggage I carry with me throughout life.
Traveling with me on their own personal journeys at the Legacy Center
in Mooresville were 123 people from distant locations like Mongolia,
Nigeria, Canada, California, Montana, Arizona, Florida and even that
strangest, most foreign-functioning place of all – Washington,
D.C.
I brought a souvenir back for my co-workers – no towels from the
Marriott, no colorful "Wish You Were Here" postcards and no
"Someone in Mooresville Loves You" T-shirts. My souvenir is
a switch (not the spanking kind).
When I get up in the morning I no longer shuffle my feet, stalling the
inevitable and mutter, "Oh, no; I HAVE to go to work today."
That's switched to a renewed attitude of "Oh, boy, I GET to go
to work today!" Legacy training gave me a whole new perspective
on life.
And – don't you agree – the best part of any trip is coming
home and those steadfast Smoky Mountains first peek on the horizon welcoming
us back like big, open arms?
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