Between places in a place. At Chicago Union Station en route from the Iowa City Funk place to the Irondequoit Tryon place. A place between places. A familiar, comforting place after travelling through back and forth. Yet a temporary place, or so it seems in comparison to the places that seem so stable. Their place, our place, a quiet middle place.

Places have no meaning in and of themselves. Meaning is what we give them as we pass through. Sojourners we are, all of us always, though our sojourn may pause for years in a place. How quickly a place feels like home when it comes with a welcome. Bruce and Shirlee welcomed us into their place and it became our place. Now Shirlee is gone but the welcome remains as Bruce and Lydia and Deirdre and the extended Funk family welcomed us into the place that is their family.

Come Thanksgiving we hope to welcome Bruce and Lydia and Deirdre into our Irondequoit place so it can be their place as theirs is ours. Thus may our mutual brokenness be less as the empty places are filled with a love that comes from another place.

Then in whatever place we may sojourn we see God and feel the warmth of his love.