We moved into our new place last weekend.
We are tired.
We are surrounded by boxes.
I can’t find anything and Ty wore an outfit from the “creative matching” style to church. But we are now officially moved.
Moving out of the house on Lindberg Street for the second time in my life, left me feeling nostalgic. We moved in as a family of three and moved out as a family of four. Emily Grace came home from the hospital to this house and shared a bedroom with us her whole life. In the new house she has her own room.
The move to the beach had me moving out of my childhood bedroom again. Laying in bed that last night in the house had me reminiscing about all the nights I had spent growing up under that roof. I remembered snuggling into the reading corner I created in the back of my closet. I remembered breaking in a new prayer journal and seeking the Lord at the desk under the window. I remembered nursing a broken heart and I was again reminded how lucky I am to have found “the one.” Even if he was snoring.
As I stared up at the same ceiling I had stared up at as a little girl, I thought about my little girl dreams. Dreams to live in New York City. To visit Paris. To fall in love. To write a book. And then I realized for the first time, that I had done it. As an adult, I wrote my first book in the same room I dreamed about writing a book as a girl. In the very place I dreamed, my dream came true.
The other place I always dreamed of writing a book? Edisto.
Don’t you just love it when it works out like that.