I journeyed to Regensburg, Germany, a gorgeous, charming town where you can find architecture from the Romans, the Middle Ages, the 19th Century Kingdom of Bavaria, and our modern era all on display as you turn corners or sit somewhere to sip coffee. It is all present, ready to be discovered.
In the afternoon, I crossed the Stone Bridge, a structure constructed from 1135-1146 CE, which allows people to walk across the Danube River from Old Town to an additional set of Regensburg neighborhoods. When I walked across, I entered the university area, and I saw students on bicycles, at cafes, along the riverbank, and inside the river on tubes and rafts.
Here’s what I’d love to share today:
Every adventurer eventually turns toward home.
I don’t only mean that trips come to an end, as mine is about to do in a couple days. I mean that we begin to desire home, and I think often, we begin to imagine our entry differently. I remember Cynthia Rigby, a treasured professor, saying to our class (paraphrased): “We tend to think about rest and time away as recreation — an experience where we recharge so we can re-enter the rat race of our lives with more energy. But instead, we can think about it as re-creation, so that we reenter as people who have been changed, and so that the rat-race changes too.”
We reenter differently.
I am ready for this, and I also desire it. Questions on my heart include…
What if my time at home felt more like an adventure? What if I savored individuals, communities, and encounters with so-called strangers like I do while traveling? What if I took more time for gratitude? What if I noticed nature even more intentionally? What if I ate more slowly? What if I became more aware of ways that local history impacts my local neighbors? What if I kept this level of reflection going?
What could be possible?
As I walked around and noticed what was around me, I thought,
“I also live near a river. I also live in a college town.”
I found myself turning toward home and differently.
— Renee Roederer
Smuggling Grace 