No Place Like Home

After about five hours in the car yesterday and ten hours of (really amazing!) sleep in my own bed with my own pillow, I am home.  So why do I feel so . . . blah?  That I-don't-know-what-to-do-today-so-I'll-just-do-nothing-and-hope-my-kids-don't-notice kind of blah.

I mean, I was refreshed.  Replenished from five days spent with the friends who became family during those nine years we lived away from blood relatives.  And yesterday when my kids and I loaded up the car through the tearful goodbyes, I somehow felt ready to return to my own home of three years.  Freshly.  With rested mind-eyes and renewed intention.

Because time spent with a good friend doesn't just make you feel better, it makes you better.   Not just in conversation.  But in the way she serves her kids and loves your own.  She makes you a better mom.  A more intense lover of Jesus the King.  A more wholehearted wife.  A better friend.

It's why we cried yesterday as we drove away.  Because those water droplets that fall from heartstrung eyes know the truth of a good friend.  And they don't want to exchange the moment for the memory. 

But we must.

Because, in spite of it all, there is no place like home.

And now, after three years living here, four and a half hours from there, this is home.  Not just where we abide.  It's where we live.  And so, I begin to pray that my heart can catch up with the here and now.  That my children's hearts can do the same.

So today, we will transition.  Letting our hearts figure out the moment to memory exchange.

And then we'll probably call our friends and let them know we made it...

home.