In A Field

Things feel crumpled.  Like blankets at the foot of an unmade bed.  I hide behind silence or fluffy conversation.  The light in the bedroom is dim, the sounds outside muffled through locked windows.  Feeling strange.  Like a stranger.  Unknown and known all at once.  I talk in riddles because I am an inside joke.  My words hide a thousand feelings that no one can navigate.  I'm thinking of all those times I wasn't sure how I was going to get through. You know, when everything seems to hinge on one decision or event and you're not really certain which way it will tip. Crying out, I give words to what's hidden in the darkest part of my soul. Those are the nights when I grew the most.  In the not knowing. When I got to the end of my finite self and His peace came floating in over me. Covering all of my bruises with a hush. I wave the white flag, surrendering to the bliss of being held.  ...

They fly through the door at the end of the day, full of stories of new friends, faces and experiences.  Anxious to get it all out, they talk above and around one another in a blur of words. For these days I am thankful.  I've spent the last couple of months answering questions. Reassuring little hearts. Trying to create home in the midst of this change.  Living in our temporarily smaller house, mattresses on floors, clothes in strange places, piled high in some cases.  Where do I put all of these towels?  How come you have so many pairs of jeans?  The odd thing is that it feels more like home in this cramped condition than it did when we fit better in this place.   And that's when it hit me. This place has nothing to do with home.  This physical address is a place to store our winter clothes, toys, books, appliances, too many shoes, furniture.  Everything.  A sto...