Home New Home
I've lived in our new apartment for the past week, and in another week I'll have a husband joining me here. It's been an adventure: physically moving more stuff than I thought we owned, mentally calculating what I can get rid of as I unpack in these tiny rooms, emotionally understanding that this is where our family will begin.
That last one gets me every time.
I feel a lot, like excited and nervous and very blessed. Family starts coming into town this weekend, marriage license paper work is being filled out, and I've gotten lots of offers to aid me in finalizing wedding details, particularly things involving paper, ribbon, and glue. But amidst the hustle and bustle of planning a wedding and two out-of-state receptions, I enjoy taking quiet moments to marvel at this transition.
When I moved into this apartment, it was empty and blank. As I unpacked, I filled the rooms with life and personality, a basement bunaglow for two. I think the same thing is happening within me. My internal walls are fresh with primer and paint, waiting for this new story to be told, piece by piece, upon a blank canvas. It's like a fresh start; new apartment, new neighborhood, and new things to discover, particularly about myself. And every time I walk in the front door, I get a little closer to feeling like I can say, "Welcome Home."