Little by little, inch by inch
We built a yard with a garden in the middle of it
It ain’t much but it’s a start
You got me swaying right along to the song in your heart
And a face to call home
A face to call home
You’ve got a face to call home
I’ve been an off-and-on John Mayer fan since I first heard him 10+ years ago, but consistently end up buying everything he puts out there. On his newest album, Born and Raised, I found the gem “A Face to Call Home.” It struck a chord for whatever reason, and I’ve had it on repeat for awhile.
It makes me think of T. The face I call home. I love our little house, but really I just want to be where T is. It doesn’t matter if we’re sitting on the couch in our family room, sitting somewhere else, walking for miles, driving for more. He is home.
Finding the face to call home is a blessing, and it’s not granted to everyone. I know I’m lucky, and I think I learned to appreciate this blessing by watching my parents over the course of their marriage. And then, yesterday, it hit me – what happens when you can no longer see the face you call home?
My heart cracked a little bit. Whether he ever thought about it consciously or not, I completely believe that my dad found his home in my mom’s blue eyes for 30 years. That’s a long time to call one face your home. How do you adjust when you can’t look into those blue eyes anymore?
Mom & Dad, feeling at home at the Biltmore Estate, July 2006
The matching shirts weren't intentional.
When the face you call home goes away, how do you avoid homelessness?