“I have long wondered if home is the place from which we come or the place we are headed.” ~Christie Purifoy
Ten years ago, my husband and I packed our belongings into a moving truck and headed home. With my two small children peeking at me through the rearview mirror, I had a settledness in my soul. I drove the familiar, tree-lined highway back to the mountain where I was raised with plans to raise my own little girls there.
I grew up in a small town with a big view. My family and my in-laws would now be a step or two away, my best friends just down the road. The stained-glass window that lit my face on my wedding day would filter the sunlight for Sundays to come.
We built a house with shiny counters and tall windows. Those counters held platters of shared food as our home became a place for holidays and joy. I spent quiet mornings on the screened-in porch with the song of the bullfrogs to keep me company. We even had enough space to open our home to an exchange student. I felt home sweet home down in my bones.
Just five years after our homecoming, I found myself behind a moving truck again. This time I couldn’t make out my daughters’ faces in the rearview mirror because tears blurred my vision. I drove that winding road down the mountain and across the bridge that would now separate me from my home. Knowing this was the right move for our family didn’t ease the pain.
Continue reading “Created for Home” at The Glorious Table.
Photo courtesy of The Glorious table, © Scott Webb, used with permission.