Visit (n.)(v.)(adv.)(adj.)

When I was a kid we would ‘visit’ people.  I grew up a pastor’s son in a small town in the deep south.  ‘Visiting’ was just something we did.

‘Visit’ was a noun; a thing to be enjoyed: ‘Let’s go have a visit with Mrs. Polly. It’s been a while”

'Visit’ was a verb; an experience: ‘We’re going to visit Mr. Hill a minute.”

‘Visit’ was an adverb; a declaration of duration: “We won’t be gone long. We’re going to visit, not to stay”

‘Visit’ was an adjective; a descriptor of a type: “I’m not preaching next Sunday.  We have a visiting pastor’

As a kid, all of that translated to (a) how long (b) do I have to behave and (c) can I play outside or do I have to sit on the plastic-covered couch (and at Christmas, (d) do we have to sing carols).  Word tense means a lot.

At the time, I didn't really understand why we went through these exercises.  I always thought that these were the old people on the church roster that couldn’t make it to church anymore, so as the pastor, Dad was obligated to check on them. There may be some truth to that, however jaded it may sound.  What I didn’t appreciate was what it did for those we visited.  Someone showed interest in them, coming to meet them in their home.  Personified potential and energy arrived in the form of 3 quasi-restrained children.  'Potential’ and ‘energy’ are not often present in the home of the aged.

All I knew then was that, at the end of the parade of children, the prize was ice cream.  Along the way, those we visited shared their homes, their quarters and their candies (usually butterscotch, but always hard candy — I still have this thing with Cherry Life Savers I can’t get over).

Years later, I take my own children to ‘visit.’  The experience of their grandmother is different for the kids when she comes to visit us and when we go to visit her.  From their very smallest, the kids would go to their designated bucket of toys as soon as we walked through the door. Grandma allowed them to bang the pots with spoons and sleep in her bed. When she’s at our house, they parade her around, showing her all of their things (many of which she purchased).

There’s power in presence.  This is true in mourning (the Jewish tradition teaches on sitting shiva) and in celebration.  Presence matters. Particularly presence in a personal place.  Having a cup of coffee at the corner shop is a fundamentally different experience than the same coffee in someone’s home because the person is more known, more interested, more personal.

So go, sit a while.