I lay in my bed this morning, stretched out under my down duvet, warm in spite of it being winter and pleasantly wore out from teaching swimming lessons last night. I began thinking of the day, and remembered it was the first day of the month.
March 1st. Oh no. What did I get myself into? Alright, I thought, this was my idea after all. I figured that I’d do an assignment today, just to get them over with. First one… nope, too much work for a Tuesday. Second one… um, too hard. Never mind. I’m just going to scribble today.
On second thought, my brain isn’t inspired, so maybe I’ll go back to that assignment list.
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I don’t consider myself a “home body” but yet, I really love my home. Driving down the long dirt road, coming home from work at night, I’m pretty eager to get home. Sometimes too eager, like the night that I backed over the snowbank, but that’s kind of a different story.
Despite the fact that our house is rarely still, much less quiet, it’s still a peaceful place to be. After a tough night, I can’t wait to get home. I might just flop in a chair and listen to stories of everyone’s day. I might join a couple of my siblings in the “big boys room” and watch a movie, but regardless it’s usually a perfect end to the day.
Home is where there is always someone to talk to, someone to play catch with, someone to cry on, someone to rant to. Home is where we talk about everything; our day, our struggles, our triumphs, our God. Home is where I learn, where I’ve grown.
In the physical it’s a farm, with chickens and goats, cows and rabbits. A farm that gave me muscles and a hard work ethic. A place where there is always new life, and a place where we learned about death. It’s a place where I learned to do stuff that I don’t like, and where I learned to love life.
It’s on a dirt road in the sticks of central Minnesota, where we walk half a mile to get our mail, and I run the hills. It’s a red house in a valley that’s always 5 degrees colder than the rest of Motley.
Home means lots of action and noise, craziness and good food. It means lots of haybales and trees and paths to find quiet time with God. It means a game of baseball or Frisbee. It means working out with my brothers, or watching them play Ping-Pong or practicing their pitching. But most of all it means love.
And that’s what draws me home at the end of a day, the love. And that’s why I’ll always come home.
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[To be completely honest I sat here and stared at this, not sure if I like it, or if it's good enough, or if it's the style I wanted, and then I realized that I was wasting time being scared. Scared of being the first person of the *whole* project to post. So I'm going to get over it, post this... and go make chocolate cupcakes instead of obsessing about this.]
