This past May, my mom, my brothers, and I took a trip to England. It was a pilgrimage of sorts. We surprised our mom last Christmas with a plane ticket and a special trip planned with her three sons (Paul’s idea). We wanted to take her to see the place where her mom was born, specifically the home she was born in. My mom had expressed wanting to do this throughout the years, and we picked up on that idea. Would the right time ever come? Well, we figured, no time like the present. So we wrapped up a chocolate candy bar, and placed a magic golden ticket on the inside. She was the lucky winner! Needless to say, mom was certainly shocked and surprised, since she thought the three of us were going in together to buy her some sort of KitchenAid product. But we had bigger plans…
So, off we went, on a magical, historical, and rainy journey…deep into the heart of southern England, and later back up to London. We basically retraced and took a similar trip to the one Aunt Beth took with grandma back in 1995…during which time I crashed grandma’s red Ford Tempo. But that’s another story for a different day. The four of us were like genealogical explorers, looking for hints and clues, visiting old churches and grave sites, looking up family records, poking into pubs, dining with lost distant relatives, a real band on the run. Road trippin’ with mom.
But then we got there. We reached our destination. Crowlas, England. Belmont Cottage. We found the home that our grandma–my dear Annie Iris Jennings–was born in.
We stood across the street, sort of soaking it all in (pun intended), for several minutes. In front of Belmont Cottage, standing in the cold drizzle on this grey English day, I felt my family’s past. I felt a sense of identity, history and belonging well up inside me. Here’s where it all started. Dare I say it was a holy moment? This was it. This was the point of the whole trip, coming into sharp focus…to reach this place.
Somehow, we found this unassuming spot on the map. When driving down highway A30 through the “town” of Crowlas, if you blinked, you’d miss it. There was a post office attached to a convenient store, and a local pub connected to an inn. About 8 homes down was Belmont Cottage. It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t glorious, it was plain and simple, and yet it was perfect. You might think that there was nothing to write home about, and yet, here I am, writing home about it. I was reminded that great things come from humble beginnings.
This Christmas season, may you experience one of these holy moments. Be on the lookout (or allow yourself to be caught off guard) because you might miss it. For they often arrive unexpectedly. They often happen when the ordinary and miraculous collide. It could be something small and insignficant, or it could be something monumental–like travelling 3,600 miles and finding Grandma’s childhood home. And when you feel a sense of the Divine, the sacred slowly come upon you, breathe it in, and be thankful for the gift. Because moments like this are rare and special.