For a committed introvert and routine-lover, I’ve a frightful record of living out of suitcases, between homes, and in transition. I believe I counted SEVEN addresses at one point that I could have had mail arriving at simultaneously. It’s exhausting, folks.
And, yet, on the flipside of that is a woman who loves adventure, challenge, and the grounding experience of creating “home” wherever our little family happens to be. Some of my best memories were made in a tiny underground college apartment with David, in an old rental home in a sketchy neighborhood as a fresh family of four, and living in spare bedrooms of our families’ homes. I’ve learned to pack light, give away often and treasure people. Truly, as Walt Whitman said, “We were together. I forget the rest.”
But, while David’s job or a plethora of factors could move us often in the coming years, I found myself in a season this Spring 2018 of buying and renovating 1200 sq. ft. of our own home. Our own space. To make messes. Drink with friends. Cuddle in pajamas. Lock our doors at night and it be just the four of us. I’m chilled at the magic of it all. I feel alive in a new way.
Painting walls, tearing out old floors, learning to grout a kitchen, deep cleaning…through all these actions, I breathe prayers of gratitude to my Savior for allowing me to nest this year. I am weary and raw, worn sharp at the edges, but finding whispers of softness stealing in and wrapping me in comfort. I am stiller and slower than I have been in years.
I resonate with Christie Purifoy in Roots & Sky. “I had arrived at both the beginning and the end of a journey,” she wrote. “I was right to believe that I had come home. I was right to imagine that my dream was being realized in this undreamed of place. But I was wrong to think that such a meaningful arrival could ever by accomplished in a moment.”
Join me for the coming moments. Slow and still. Rest and wait. Laugh and drink. Sleep and love. There is magic here.