Coming Home

While my husband and I were dating, I made the mistake of sharing a sentimental thought about my hometown. Since then, he has constantly ribbed me about it, but I could care less. I still feel the same way every time I come home from a trip down south. See, in order to get home, we have to cross a long bridge where our famous lake and river combine. It has always meant a lot to me to, especially if the lights are on at Memorial Field or if the sun is setting over our amazing ski hill. It meant that I was home. I was safe and everything is peaceful. Yesterday was one of those days where again, I was struck by the beauty of the snow-capped mountains and the lake being as smooth as glass. It was only something God could come up with. Once again that safe feeling came over me, knowing I was home, knowing I'm surrounded by my family, and there is no greater gift than that.

"Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule."
~Frederick W. Robertson