This place, here,
It is becoming home.
We are taking root, for the time, in this corner of Locust Street. It feels sweeter with every day’s learning what our life is and can be. The familiarity of things is deepening, and we welcome it and rest better.
We are learning to love and live as one, he and I being two vastly different souls yet profoundly united and same. It is nearly like starting life from infancy. I make new steps, mostly wobbly, unsure, but the graceful, steadier ones are taking over. Only now, he is with me in the stepping, and my giving to him is one with my taking from him, somehow. Our hearts are in the open, together, and we realize the weight of words and looks and wounds and grace. They are intertwined, these hearts and the rest of us. There are two who must balance now, two who must face what is deeper-down when those stumbles peel more skin, and two to pick up the mess, soothe and heal.
So we are stepping into a liturgy, for the inward dancing in the outward goodness we have. We are forming frames and rituals. And they are not rigid, but freeing. They give fluidity to our dance as we slow down and perfect our steps, because these are the parts that time returns us to, the parts that are turning into normal (but yet are sacred beyond knowing.) These help us hold on to our promises, and even face the bigger things.
Not all of these parts have been chosen by us, but they are just right for fitting into life together. Parts like the late work nights, making our two-to-ten sleep schedule a new normal, and noontime still appropriate for breakfast-eating. Or the ten dollar load of laundry at the Depot every Wednesday, while we catch up on our internet interactions at the chained-up tables there, then debate folding styles for t-shirts and whether or not you even bother with folding underwear. Or the forever pile of dishes we wash, sometimes grumbling right after praising that we have eaten again, holding full plates and full stomachs. Or the late-night open-Bible readings and wonderings, the haven where we rest our confusion and hold on to certain things.
And it is because of these shifts nearer into oneness, nearer into love, that we embrace this touchable place where we live the everyday. Home is being made.