All Roads Lead Home

It is not down in any map; true places never are~Herman Melville

I cannot read maps. If directions say to head west instead of turn left or right, I want to cry because the points of a compass are an abstraction to me, a mathematical formula my English teacher brain cannot wrap itself around.

But the map of my heart, I can read that. The roads criss-cross and loop over one another. There are bridges, some standing, some burned. There are no street names, only landmarks.

The first moment I looked into Shane's blue eyes (and noted that they were the same color as my Grandma's eyes) leads to looking into those eyes and saying "I do." There are mountains and valleys along that road, highs and lows. The pavement alternates between rough and smooth, sometimes freshly paved, other times a gravel road full of holes. It's a long road.

Then there's an express lane, fast forwarding to the moment when a nine pound baby was laid on my chest and what a beautiful road that is, buffeted by wild flowers and sunshine, but sometimes storm clouds of doubt. And then the road becomes a two-lane highway, fast and furious with sharp curves and signs to take it SLOW {and enjoy} (do we ever listen to those signs?).

The map of my heart can't be found in atlas format. There is no south or west, only a center point where all the roads lead. Still, it's just as true and real as any globe, any grid, because these are the roads I travel every day of my life.