It’s a few day after but these were some of my thoughts from the first night:
I stood at the window and watched the sun go down over the river. Our neighbors across the road have three horses in their pasture and their coats glistened in the setting sun. Every thing is green and lush and beautiful. So lush that I am certain my gardens will be home to snails and slugs. And our house, well, it is full of lovely potential, details and dreams. It is sturdy and has been well-maintained. I envision sharing my veranda with so many friends new and old. As I took in the view and saw details like engraved hinges and vintage door bells while my daughters climbed the staircase and laughed in their room, I was reminded of something. My house is beautiful; my dream house pretty much. But it is still just a house. It has only become a home today as we entered it as a family. We will sleep on hastily made beds tonight and our morning oatmeal will be served picnic style on plates with plastic spoons. Our heat is not on (and it is cold!) and there is no hot water. I see much to be done and my mind is churning with lists. And yet within my spirit is a quiet reminder that home is not made with the perfect paint color and décor that sees every detail thought out. Home is what we make together through our love and giving to each other and to whomever else enters. And that is what we stood together in our driveway and asked for. That with all our imperfections and any challenges/changes/difficulties we encounter that this would be home.