There's No Place Like Home, Toto.

We returned home from our vacation today in the late afternoon after a drive through beautiful Wisconsin (the trees! We do miss thick, foliage-rich landscape) and early-summer Minnesota. After the little boys and I napped, we stopped in south-central MN at a BP, which happened to be across the road from an implement business. We sat on the curb next to the pump, drinking Mountain Dew Throwback (Papa and I) and apple juice (P) and milk (S), listening to the quiet roar of traffic on I-90 and the periodic buzz of crickets in the surrounding fields. "You can tell the pace has slowed down already," said Papa, and I realized that I was breathing differently--more relaxed, slower. Sitting there, pointing out the occasional car, enjoying the silences that only family togetherness can create, I realized it felt like home, felt like here. We still had a few hours to drive, but it didn't matter--the rush and bustle of the more metro areas we visited in the last ten days were fading. And I was glad. Really glad.

I tend to be a "grass is greener" person, especially when it comes to place (geography) and perceived opportunity. "How cool would it be to live there," I think all the time. This is one of the reasons I like to read the atlas during road trips--but I digress. Moving so much as a child made me realize in my teen years that I liked moving, liked going somewhere new, starting over. I still feel that way very often. But after five years in one town, in one house, now where we are raising two (three!) of our children, I really appreciate the stability and comfort of home. Our home.

After we had a simple dinner, after the little boys got baths and stories and prayers and then promptly sacked out, Papa watched baseball on T.V. (don't ask about the Brewers) while I headed to the library. There, Sally helped me straighten out our convoluted check-outs and I browsed in the quiet stacks for a few minutes before heading out to the car. The sun this time of year is gorgeous, and at eight o'clock was still an hour and a half away from fully setting, so I rolled through the streets with the windows down, passing a Little League baseball game, walkers, quiet businesses, church members walking in the park. Then I went to Coburn's, one of two grocery stores in town, where I saw Sally again (small towns really are small!) and a church member, who chatted with me about her pregnancy. After I left with some penny-pincher savings (love those coupons!), I saw that Main Street in front of the store was jammed with parked cars, and the lights of the Performing Arts Center glowed into the street--it's Opening Night for Annie! (I really hope we can catch a performance--the community theater productions here are awesome!)

I drove home in the waning sunlight, seeing men tending their yards; family patios sporting vestiges of a day at the pool--wet towels, sand toys; old couples sitting on their front porch stoops watching people drive the Square. I was overwhelmed with gladness that we live here, that we had little moments today of simple gifts. What a great day. What a gift to be home, to have a home, to know that even should we lose our physical home on Earth, we have one prepared for us in heaven. And that home will bring countless more joys than even our wonderful, humble one here does! Here's to home, now and forever.