This week, I was going through boxes of old mementos, in preparation for a move overseas.  I am from the South, and I thought that I would be born there, live there, and die there; that was the plan.  Then, my parents invited 15-year-old Aimee to tag along to the Southern Baptist Convention in Salt Lake City, UT with an onward trip to San Diego to see my dear Aunt Francis and Uncle Bob. Never before had I set foot on an airplane - I was thrilled! From the moment we arrived, we were treated better than royalty, because we were treated like dear family. I woke up at the crack of dawn, in a full throttle state of excitement, and somehow, they were always awake and waiting on me and spoiling me. Music playing all about the house. A little bit of John Denver, I think? They took us on movie star home tours and to see the Chinese theatre; but my favorite reflection is how much they talked to us. There were so many good conversations, and smiles and tears and laughter and hugs. Never in a million years would I have believed that in just a few years, I would get married and be stationed (military spouse) in California. I think it was approximately 2 seconds after we arrived in San Diego that we received the first invitation to attend church with them. We did go. I wish we had gone more. The drive from San Diego to LAX was daunting and free time in military life was almost nonexistent. But they always reminded us that that they were there and their door was open.

Yesterday, as I went through the last of my souvenirs, I realized that the main memories I recall of that first trip are of Aunt Francis and Uncle Bob, fully invested in spending time with us, smiling like the world was just right. And for that brief, golden summer, it was. That trip changed the trajectory of my life in ways I couldn't have imagined. It cracked open the world beyond my Southern roots and planted in me a love for the West Coast, for family, and for the kind of grace that lingers long after the visits are over.

I’ve moved many times since then, but I’ve always tried to be as hospitable as the Byrd’s. Now, as I prepare to move once again—this time crossing oceans instead of state lines—I’m struck by how life loops back on itself in the sweetest ways. I once thought my whole story would be written in one place. But sometimes, love and belonging find us in unexpected corners of the map. And sometimes, a single trip, filled with music and early morning smiles, is enough to teach you that home is not always a location—sometimes, it’s the people who welcome you in like you’ve always belonged. I will never forget my beloved Aunt Fran and her house where the door—and the hearts—were always open.