We are nearly home after three delicious days away. Nearly languid after 72 hours of reading and laughing and finishing sentences. And I can’t say a hearty enough thank you to dear friends (you know who you are) who graciously opened doors and invited us in and to parents who love more than anything except Jesus that their family is nearly all local and love to be together. Who delight in the commraderie of loved ones gathering and doing life together whilst (but not for this weekend) the Smalls play their games and finish each others sentences. Who say they would give us the moon if they could, but perhaps have not yet realized that they already have, just in Jesus and each other, in that order.
Nearly home, but not without one more dip in the spa. Not without cozying up on the couch for episode two of Downton Abbey and trying to finish all the hummus we thought we had to buy and learning how to play Dutch Blitz. Nearly home to thirteen Smalls whose soft arms have left our necks naked for three days. Nearly home with the sexiest pair of heels I’ve ever seen, which I will wear for a very deserving husband. Those and the Get-Along shirt. Giddy-up.
This is me being real. Not wanting to leave. Not able to wait to get home.