When I was a child, my house was a source of little deliberation.

My parents provided the property and I bounced off the walls as my limbs lengthened. As I graduated from educational institutions and struck out on my own that shifted significantly.

I remember staying up the night after I signed the paperwork that made the property within the survey lines my responsibility. I remember wondering if I had made a mistake. I remember the money, planning, and time I poured into the collection of bricks, mortar, and wood to try to make sure that this investment wouldn’t leave me disappointed.

As I get older and give birth to children that bear my last name, my relationship with homes, of which I’ve owned more than one of, has shifted.

Now, instead of an investment or a set piece for social media, it’s become a workshop for the building of human beings. A backdrop for memories that bring smiles and tears to my eyes. A gentle remind of God’s provision and care for me.

Morning missives.

OFO