Hometown Visit

Every year, my husband and I go back to my hometown to place Christmas wreaths on the graves of my parents and grandparents. I don’t live far from where I grew up, but other than the occasional visit with my best friend, I just don’t have a reason to go there.  We stop at what was once a corner drugstore now turned into a popular family restaurant and still buy gift cards for two people who cared for my dad in the last years of his life. When I think about angels walking among us, those individuals come to mind.

Someone asked me recently about where I grew up, and I described it as straight out of a mid-century Norman Rockwell painting. It was a front porch community meaning people sat on their front porches and got in each other’s business but were always there when someone needed a hand. As kids, we were allowed to run the streets because if we had a problem, we knew families who lived on every block. The town was supported by the manufacturing industry and small, locally owned businesses, with thriving churches and corner grocery stores scattered throughout. We were fiercely proud of our sports teams and our community. In many ways, it was an idyllic place to grow up.

Like so many small towns across the country, it has suffered greatly in the last few decades. Factories moved out, the business district collapsed once nearby malls were built, and many of the lovely old homes, my own included, were turned into apartments and low income housing, often poorly managed by absentee landlords. The sad, universal trifecta of poverty, addiction, and crime continues to be an ongoing problem. The school system struggles with a limited tax base and a growing number of students needing support and special services.

But when I was there this week, I saw signs of life and optimism. Several individuals have made huge investments in the downtown area and are transforming once dilapidated buildings into beautifully rehabilitated properties. The drugstore-turned-restaurant (complete with an old-time soda fountain where you can get a milkshake flight) was packed with people. There’s a trendy little sandwich shop in place of what was for years, a notoriously nasty hotel bar. The church I used to attend, at one time on the verge of closing, is now led by a dynamic new rector who regularly posts on social media about all the wonderful things happening there. Warm scarves and hats hang on a nearby fence for anyone who needs them. Antique shops, little boutiques, and a bakery dot the rejuvenated business district--all hopeful and earnest in their efforts to bring a viable economy back to the community. A music studio has opened in the former home of a woman who taught piano lessons to hundreds of local youngsters. I’ve had the opportunity to participate in several events at the public library, and the work being done by the staff and board of that library to serve and uplift the community is nothing short of extraordinary.

So at this time of year, especially when the world is dark and foreboding for so many reasons, what could be better than signs of hope in a place where, perhaps, it’s least expected. There was Hope found in a stable--a place where it was least expected—over 2000 years ago. And it’s still here if we know where to look for it.

Merry Christmas.