We moved in late July to a house with a front porch and a mountain view.
Every single morning – and that’s not hyperbole – I look north and am overcome with gratitude.
If you’ve ever lived in a house that is a HOME, you know this feeling. It’s as if we were meant for this house and it was meant for us.
We have a library, for goodness’ sake.
We have a garden and a skylight, a fireplace and a back porch well-suited for dinner parties. Even the brass lamp that was left here by mistake matches up with my soul.
I’m not sure what God has in mind for this house, but I’ll be the first to tell you – this is no ordinary house. There is magic and mystery here. I feel it already as I mop the creamy speckled tile and read aloud chapter books on our billowy leather couch. I sense it as the girls whirl around on the tree-hung tire swing and dance in tutus across our hand-brushed wooden floors. I know it when we gather around our six-person table with piping hot homemade cheese pizza on our plates.
This is a house deserving of a name. I’ve already decided that. It just hasn’t come to me yet. Your recommendations, as always, are welcome.