Packing Up God’s Peace: Bringing Vacation Home

Tis the season for vacations.

There’s the anticipation that bubbles up weeks before you leave, the thrill (or stress) of packing, the sense of adventure as you imagine all the places you’ll go. Then comes the magic itself: exploring somewhere new, the freedom from routine, the gift of wonder that so many of us only allow ourselves to fully feel on vacation.  And then, of course, there is that undeniable dread of coming home.  

Cue he re-entry hangover.

Our family recently welcomed a five-month-old golden retriever puppy named Ruger, which has made our holidays a little shorter and more carefully planned this year.  Even so, we carved out time to visit a new city together. We explored their zoo, splashed on their beaches, and tried out incredible local food. We dunked ourselves in icy lakes that left us breathless and alive, swam in hotel pools until our fingers shriveled like raisins, played out Pokémon adventures across hotel bedsheets and pillow forts, and hunted down the best coffee shops to kick off each day with joy.

On the drive back home, I asked my husband a question that surprised him.

“What did you learn from vacation?”

He glanced at me, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

As he navigated city traffic, which had me practically hiding my eyes since I am a country gal through and through, I pressed on. “Michael, when we are on vacation, we feel lighter. What did you notice in that peace and blessing that you could bring home into your daily life?”

He paused and said, “Kate, I really like that question.”

That moment stuck with me. Why do we dread coming home from vacation so much?

Yes, we have less stress while we are away, but there is more to it than that.

I sat in silence for a while as Michael handled traffic like he was auditioning for the Fast and the Furious, and I let my mind wander back over the trip.

During those days away, Michael still had work commitments, so I took the lead in parenting our son. And something unexpected happened. With no to-do lists, no tee ball snacks to pack, no dishes to scrub, I could just be with my child. I did not have to rush or multitask. I was free to enter his imagination. Together we became Pokémon trainers. We saved animals at the zoo. We fought off dragons. I stepped fully into his world, letting myself dream and play right alongside him. For four days, I was not distracted by tasks or chores or endless mental checklists.

When I explained all of this to Michael, his eyes lit up. I told him, “I need to play with our son more. Not just the ‘Mommy needs one minute’ kind of play. I mean really play. Sometimes I need to set everything aside and hop on a kitchen-chair spaceship to the moon with him.” God reminded me during this vacation what a blessing these moments truly are. If I wanted to bring that peaceful, joyful feeling back home, I needed to play with my son more often.

Our lesson became crystal clear the moment we pulled back into our driveway. Our son, who is autistic and struggles with transitions, fell apart. Tears streamed down his face as he told me, “Mommy, I hate home.”

My heart cracked open.

Was he telling me that home felt stressful? That it was a place where I was too busy, too distracted, too hurried? I realized that at home, I was the mom who kept things running, the list-checker, the rule-enforcer. I was the mom getting things done, giving every piece of myself to everyone except maybe the most important thing, which was simply being with him.

In that moment, I changed course. I turned off the TV, which had come on the second we walked through the door, so I could unpack. I left the laundry in a big heap on the floor. Instead, I took him by the hand and walked straight to the playroom. Together we built Play-Doh ice cream cones, constructed LEGO towers, and dreamed up stories for hours.

Vacations are blessings, yes, but they are also teachers. They teach us to slow down, to let go of the constant churn of tasks, to be present, and to connect. Vacations let us become quiet enough to hear God’s voice reminding us that these precious moments are fleeting and the chores will still be there later.

If you are traveling this summer, I encourage you to ask yourself, as you return home, “What can I bring back from this vacation to keep its peace alive?” Listen for the lesson. Sometimes the greatest souvenir is not a snow globe or a magnet but a commitment to carry that peace, that playfulness, and that presence back into your everyday life.

In our home, playtime is now a priority. The laundry can stay in its heap while I build kitchen-chair rockets and battle dragons with my son. There is no better way to honor God’s gift of family than to live fully in these sweet, imaginative moments, even when the vacation is over.