When I was a little girl, I went to horse camp in Bragg Creek, Alberta every summer. For one glorious week each year I got to live my little girl dreams on the back of a tired pony.
As a teenager I worked at that very horse camp, where I spent my entire summer filthy, and utterly happy.
I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but at some point that farm became the epitome of what I wanted in my life - where I wanted to live and what I wanted to do with my life.
Fast forward about 20 years, I'd finally convinced Jared that we should move out of the city and onto a farm, and low and behold, that very farm was up for rent.
And so, naturally, we moved, again. We sold the house in the city and moved to the country!
However, no matter how loudly my childhood dreams tried to convince me, that 50 year old tiny farm house was not our dream house. As it stood there wasn't room for us, and certainly no room for us to grow. It was able to provide us with on last service: a safe place for us to be while we searched for our elusive forever home.
And that is what brings me to where I am right now, sitting in the dark, staring at the log walls of what is our new, and our forever home!
I don't know what I thought I'd feel, finally in the house I plan on calling home forever, but I don't think I'm feeling it. I am feeling stressed. I am feeling the heavy weight of finality on my heart. I'm feeling all the questions that came up when we were deciding to buy it. When Eli was younger he would react so badly when we moved - he hated to be alone anywhere in the new houses for at least 6 months - even if all I did was try to go to the bathroom by myself. I'm sitting here now, with everyone else asleep, and I'm feeling a little of what he must have felt.
I'm praying too. I'm praying for many years of happy memories. Many years of Christmas trees and Easter Egg hunts. Many years of dirt biking and horse riding. I'm praying that this home will become the safe harbor that my children will always feel welcome at, will always want to come home to. A place where generations will gather. I pray that my door will stay open to family, friends, and even strangers who may need to feel the comforts of home.
And so, on this first night of the rest of my life I sit here in quiet contemplation, resisting sleep, because that will mean that this first night is over and the real work of making this house a home begins.
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