(Pardon the dusty keyboard. Yikes.)
Happy Tuesday, friends! Welcome to day 1 of my new challenge series! In lots of ways, this has been a good day: great run with my girls this morning, time for devotions (it's been hard to sit down to devotions in the morning with the early runs. When it comes down to shower vs. devotions, my spirit would prefer the latter, but my colleagues, the former. You're welcome, Mr.boss-man.) and a good breakfast (oatmeal... loving this cooler weather!) But as the day progressed other "not so good" things started piling up, one on top of the other, and by the end of the day I was just tired...
(I must say that I am feeling very blessed to not have been more affected by this crazy earthquake that the east coast dealt with today.... I felt it, but that was the extent. My heart is with all those dealing with the outcome of that event tonight...)
And so I did what any
And now here I am
As I've gotten older, one of the concepts I have been most thrilled & fascinated to learn is that of 'comfort'. I love the fact that comfort is such a personal phenomena, and I love even more that it's a fluid concept that shifts and changes form for each person as time goes on.
For most of us, out first definition of comfort was probably falling asleep in our mothers' arms. As we grew up and our knowledge of the universe expanded, our definition grew to include things like "worn-in jeans, downy blankets, and hot cocoa" (among other things).
And while I hold all these things to be truth, as far as what comfort is-- I have come to know something else, as well: that above and beyond any tangible thing, comfort is what make a house a home.
I love that my life is a healthy mix of social nights out & quiet nights in. I love to go out and be loud with my girlfriends, on the nights when the stories and the wine and giggles flow freely. And that's one kind of comfort, for sure: a comfort found in being absolutely free to be yourself. But I also (equally fiercely!) love the quiet nights in , filled with bottomless cups of hot tea, plates of homemade cookies, sleepy kitties & snuggling on the couch with my man.
It is here, at home, that I am most at peace; it is here where I can finally allow the weight of the world and the stress of the work day roll off my shoulders.
During the second half of my "college life", I was moving every 3 months as a co-op student. Moving was a great experience for me not only because it took me to new places, but because it forced me out of my comfort zone in so many ways. And while some people might argue that moving every 3 months is detrimental to ones sense of comfort & self because 'you never have enough time to put down any roots' ... I would argue that moving every 3 months allowed me to branch out, and, perhaps more importantly, that my roots were firmly planted to begin with. Also, undeniably, moving every 3 months gave me a better sense of what "home" really was for me.
Since Jon & I moved into this house at the end of last March, this is the house that I've lived in the longest (outside of my parents home, where I spent 18+ years!) Our house is not the biggest on the street, and our flower beds are far from perfect, but it is cozy and perfect & ours. I remember lying awake on our air mattress the first night we had the house, listening to the cats explore their vast new domain & and Jon's soft, regular breathing. I didn't sleep well that night -- I couldn't. My brain was positively racing with the promise & possibilities of this new house. This is the house we will learn how to be married in. This is the house we will bring our babies home from the hospital to. This is the house we will live in as we chase our dreams, each day getting closer and closer to making them a reality. This is our home.
It is my personal promise that I will strive to bring this feeling of welcome & comfort to anyone who steps through our door.
I am a homebody, and I am not ashamed of it.
Rather, I am proud.