|I like to think Jesus is preparing this for me.|
I tell my husband that my home is him.
He’s my best friend. He’s my better half. He comes through the door each evening and I hear,
The bricks and mortar, wood and glass stuff of our abode have been marketed for sale and purchased in other places. Yet, the laying down of our Isaac in this place was rejected in this current market.
I was relieved to get to keep our Isaac.
We can’t put a price tag on home in a husband and sons and daughter-in-love and dog.
It’s the place where I fulfill my calling as homemaker. Some days are more dusty and messy than others. The routine of home can sometimes become a rut-ine. Yet in the rut there is comfort in the sameness.
It’s where we welcome extended family and friends, and the occasional stranger.
Ultimately, home is where we carry out our earthly life knowing that this is not where we’ll spend our eternity.
It’s temporary. This home.
It’s the womb before our birth into our eternal home.
I’m right at home with other writers today at