The golden morning light greeted me that first day. I had been lulled to sleep by the chorus of spring peepers, and I felt like a child again. The familiar sound, the familiar place.
I walked the neighborhood in the silence of breaking daylight, past familiar homes. My friends from elementary school had lived there. My youth pastor's family, just down this street, here.
The house at the other end where my sister and I quietly left a May basket, rang the doorbell, and bolted, giggling wildly.
And some homes, still sharing the same love and the same people that were shared with our family long ago. Ready to welcome, ready to "share an egg" or a "cup of flour."
The clock is now hung. Our "shepherdess."
We're settling in. And it's the most peaceful, right feeling in the world. I love nesting. But this nest, this childhood home of mine, has been feathered before. By my own mother.
To tend it now, as a mother myself, is surreal.
The rhythm of our days picks up and falls into a whirl of something resembling normality. School hums merrily in the study where, years ago, we set up our first, bulky family computer.
The china cabinet holds my china -- my grandmother's china -- just as it once held my mother's things. Pieces from family, passed down. Like this home.
Even sweet Maizy seems to know that all is well.
Serene and restful. I think of Gideon's peace. He asked the Lord, "Show me?" And the Lord revealed.
So, too, the Lord revealed that this is the home for us. For this time. And we are so very grateful.
Miss Kate scrambles up to the loft, not minding one bit that it's time for some quiet. Nestled among books with tea and CDs where I remember sorting through Sports Illustrated volumes with my dad.
The rain pounds its rhythm on the skylight above me. The geese congregate in the nearby wetlands, seeking shelter among the reeds.
We, too, have sought shelter. Many times. And the Lord has faithfully gathered us into His arms. And every time, we've found home.