I just found this post as a draft that I never published in mid-September. As I re-read it now, I thought back to this morning when I leaned against the side door, preparing to step out into the cold. As the weak sunlight streamed in across our walls, I took a contented deep breath and thought of all the people who will come over this weekend for an open house. I thought of my dad’s birthday cake cooling on those countertops, and how Charlie and I fell asleep reading together on the porch the other day. As I re-read this post just now, I realized that our home is already the blessing we hoped it would be.
(written September 23 )
We moved home this weekend.
By that I mean, we moved into the home we’ve thought about and saved for since we first married. We didn’t picture this exact home, but we did envision this exact feel.
Peaceful, homey, warm, inviting, ours.
More than anything, I want this home to be two things: welcoming and restful.
Welcoming to little feet coming down the hallway. Welcoming to new nieces who will have breakfast at the counter and crowd the guest tub with bath toys. Welcoming to ladies for Bible studies. Welcoming to youth for advice. Welcoming to friends for life.
Restful for our marriage. Restful after long days of ministry. Restful in the warm smiles across the table. Restful in the peace and quiet. Restful in the happy noise created by sharing life with those we love.
We’ve lived so many places and within so many walls. Our home is not fancy or large, but because of the man I share it with and the Lord who provided it — as well as all the life I hope to experience in it — it’s the home of our dreams.