The last time I signed papers such as these I felt resigned. I was glad to be buying my first home, sure, and grateful for the gift that it was, but it wasn't what I wanted. I felt as though I had settled for less than my dream. Which is to be expected in a first home, I'm certain.
And since that time, since the leap back to the Midwest, since the change in careers, since all the risks we've taken to get here, I have prayed for this moment.
And so here I sit. Looking around my apartment. To the wall that beheld the "Welcome to Michigan!" sign my sister made for us two years ago. To the couch and loveseat, tattered, worn and aged that I have made-do with while I put our money aside for a house, not new furniture. To the handful of plants that survived the move, and have sustained themselves on limited sunlight. To the puppy that I promised a yard to.
In two hours I will sign the papers. And they will hand me my keys. Keys to a yard. To a garden. To arched doorways and a fireplace. Keys to a home with a guest room. To a lawn with flowers and trees. To a deck and falling autumn leaves. To pantry shelves in the basement awaiting my canned fruits and sauces.
It's a place where I can finally play the piano again. Where we can snuggle up in front of a fire during the long cold Michigan winter. To a yard where we can run and play with the puppy and enjoy his excitement and freedom. To a kitchen with an east window where we will sit together and eat breakfast, sit together to pray.
This afternoon I feel like I am finally coming home. Finally coming to MY home. To the home I always wanted my boy to have.
It's a blessing I do not deserve. But one I will forever be grateful for.