The electric candles in our windows are on timers. The automatic shut-off occurs at 11 pm each night… except for last night. One of the timers must be broken, because the little light was shining, yellow and warm, until 4 in the morning. I fell asleep staring at it, mesmerized by its glow, soaking in the cozy aura–the same aura that fills “the Homestead” during the Christmas season.

I miss it.

How about a great verse for the cupboard over your kitchen sink, or the mirror in your bathroom, or taped right in front of your speedometer? (You pick; here’s the verse:)

When my anxious thoughts multiply with in me, Your consolations delight my soul. —psalm 94.19

December 13.

This season always goes too quickly, in my estimation. It’s funny; I have memories of waiting for weeks and weeks for the big day when finally all of those presents under the tree would be fair game–whatever happened to all of those weeks? Could it be that they were swallowed up with adult responsibilities and pragmatism? Yes, it could be.

Our apartment looks wonderfully festive. It’s been fun for me to create our own little winter wonderland with snowflakes and garlands, candles and boughs–and of course, music. We sit in the evening and just soak it all in. It blesses him, and that blesses me.

But it’s not quite what my heart was expecting. It’s enjoying the chubby snowman sitting in the window and all, but what about the house with the red roof? Where are all of the kids? And why is that one tin of cookies lasting so long? Where are all of the people hanging out each night? Aren’t there any little boys here who squeal each time there’s a new gift slipped under the decorated branches?

Yes, there are fun things and there are hard things. Lots of fun things… but, some hard things.

Tonight I’m hoping to slip over to that red-roofed home and watch a Hallmark movie with my mom and sisters. It’ll be fun, sitting on a familiar couch with familiar sights and sounds and siblings.

And then I’ll come back to this little apartment, and I’ll probably notice this: I might miss the red roof, but my heart is learning. This is home.

Home.

Feels like I’ve been gone for a good portion of forever–and in reality, only two weeks or so. Portland, Cortland, Williamsburg… lots of miles, lots of sitting, but lots of memories.

My first Thanksgiving away. (Thanksgiving seems another lifetime gone by now. How do twinkly lights so quickly relegate the memory of turkey to the back corner of the mind?) I did okay and had fun. My only tears were when I talked to my dad after dinner.

We were in Cortland for 24 hours. Ryan came to drop me off, and away I went the next morning, down, down, down to Williamsburg. I slept in a room with my sister, took walks with MW, kissed chubby faces and squeezed lots of hands, and took in the sights and sounds and smells of a bygone era. My family loves living history–and recorded history, and written history, and, well, we love it all. We heard Patrick Henry and Thomas Jefferson (actors so convincing that you walked away slightly confused as to whether or not that really was him). We toured house after shop after palace after courthouse, saw working kitchens full of fattening foods, went to a concert of wooden flutes and gut-stringed violins, and stood with 30,000 others to see the Grand Illumination as Williamsburg, in perfect sychronization, “put on” Christmas. Beautiful. Moving. Thought-provoking. Inspiring.

And last night, home again. My home. My piano, my comfy bed, my kitchen, my candle-lit windows. Home. My home where Christmas needs to be invited in with music, smells, and decor, and I am responsible for the first time. I have ideas and hopes; we’ll see what actually happens! This morning, we cut our first tree. It’ll probably be a little sparse, but it will smell heavenly and bring the magic of holiday excitement to our little tiny home.

*******

Home, yes, home. It’s comforting and safe and all of those things.

And yet, not.

I’m not really Home yet. Not really. I ache for that day when I’ll see Him face to face. Then I’ll be Home.

a lost post from september.

After snuggling deep into a wool sweater all day yesterday (and avoiding puddles, having perpetually damp hair, and a chill affecting my spine), I am very happy to see today’s forecast: 68 and sunny. I think I’ll make sure to be outside a bit today.

I woke up at 7:00 this morning, which I haven’t done in awhile. It started with exhaustion catching up to me, sleeping consistently through my alarm, and finally giving up and letting sleep run its course. But that led to sleep getting the best of me, robbing me of early mornings, and leaving me with that awful sense of being lazy and a bit behind. Enough is enough, and last night I set my alarm. Funny how a little thing like getting up infuse my rest with a sense of anticipation.

Now if I can just start getting to bed at a reasonable hour. (These are the “growth curves” of being newly married: how to be a night person for him and a morning person for me…)

Days seem to disappear rapidly as of late. Not that they haven’t always, but now those hours melt away, dissipate, vanish into thin air as never before. It’s morning, and then it’s mid-afternoon. Before I know it, it’s time for candles and lamps and post-dinner chores. I only pray that I’m able to do what it is He has for me in this fleeting space of time. Grasping and holding certainly won’t help, but living in His presence, abiding in Him–that will fill these short days with meaning. It will cause my vapor of a lifespan to have impact.

Lord, use me today. My plans aren’t very grandiose. No one ever made history cleaning a bathroom–but somehow use me. Let the fragrance of Christ fill the rooms I enter and the conversations I have. Let my mind be on You and Your Kingdom. Fill my cup to overflowing.

I forget how intimately acquainted He is with all of my ways. I remember common grace, but I forget that He extends His mercy to me in my particular moment of need. I underestimate His ability to fill my emptiness before I even have time to notice the gaping hole. He’s so good, so perfect, so strong. Sometimes that overwhelms me.

Sometimes in a moment of need, I do what’s natural:

I lift my eyes to see Your beauty…

and it takes me by surprise when suddenly He can

still my heart and take my breath away.

I can’t imagine life on earth without the Lord. The clearer that the pain and brokenness of this life becomes, the more my compassion increases towards those who are blind to Hope. My heart aches to see His glory. And I will:

I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.

Come quickly.