When he brought me here 18 years ago it was dark outside. I didn’t understand why this place held such a huge part of his heart and who he is. For me- home was never a place really…I mean I feel most at home during Church, or at my Grandmothers kitchen table, sitting outside the cabin with my Dad, on a walk with my Mom. Home for me is the smell of my Grace’s hair first thing in the morning, holding Micah’s hand after school. Singing with Jonah, having Daniel lean on me. Home.

For me, home has always been the people I’m with or the intimate breath between Me and My God.

But for my husband, who 19 years ago was just my boyfriend, home was land and a place. It is his place. The River near his Grandparents. And the land where he grew up. Even after all these years and kids, this is Home. As we wind up the road to his parents, life and his job and the responsibilities release with a big exhale. And the morning after I arrived here I understood. It is beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking.

The kids feel it too. Here they run free and wild. Through the fog. Above it. Down the big hill and toward me, after the deer. And back again. And it’s real. And it’s beautiful. Micah has fallen three times already in the mud. We have washed his pants. Three times. But then he’s off again.

Micah said this morning to me that life seems like “It’s just tying and untying your shoes over and over again.”

And Daniel followed up with “But you’ve gotta do it still, if you want to run.”

So today my real is watching my home, be most at home.