Home

 There's something about coming home.  When I see this view my shoulders relax, my breathing is easier, I smile and think, "home."

 For so many in this world home is not a safe place.  It's filled with anger and hurt, or longing and hunger and cold.  How thankful I am that the home in which I grew up was a safe and wonderful place.  I remember driving "home" when Chris and I were first married, and even up to the time my parents moved from our childhood home.  There's that feeling of joy when you can see the house.  It's not the place.  Ours was certainly not a mansion, nor was it perfectly decorated or even exceptionally clean (nor is mine today!), but it was home.

 We in the United States have the unique privilege of owning homes that are heated, with running water, insulation, glass windows, and closets.  I'm so thankful for my home.  It's old, built on corner stones with no foundation to speak of.  It's cold most of the time since the heating vents were retro-fitted in the top of the walls.  But when we considered putting it on the market this summer, our realtor, after walking through and around and in, said "You guys are all through this place."  She didn't mean our stuff either.  Our home exudes us.  Our laughter and tears permeate every room.  It's where we belong--for now.

As much as I love my home, I'm even more thankful that I have a home waiting for me that will never break down, never be cold, never need repair.  A place where there are no tears or crying or pain; where we will truly and finally belong----forever.