splinters

it's morning, not too early, but early enough that the sun has not yet taken all the cool air that settled during the night. i love mornings here. a cup of steaming tea and a blanket to curl up with, it reminds me of fall at home.

home.

such a strange word. what does it mean? if home is where you grew up then home for me is in hager city, where i lived from ages 11-19, and one summer after that. if home is that place than my home is an old farm house. it is painting for hours on end, re-roofing the house, making sun tea and picking in the garden. spending summers in mostly just bikinis and winters in 1,001 layers and thick wool socks. surrounded by sisters and brother, mom and dad. so many dishes to do and memories to make. if home is that then i am not home...

if home is where the heart is, like that saying, then home is here. home is with my love, my other half. home is jumping into his arms, knowing he would do anything to protect me, support me. it would be in the silent way he looks at me, looks through me. the way i run my hands through his hair and kiss his cheek. home is here then, in our little apartment in this valley. if that is home then i am here...

it's the splice between the two, the chasm that i know is there, though not visible to all, i know it there. splintered little bekah, trying to go on and be brave. at least i have his hand to hold, at least i know that God has a plan. even though i know all of that in my head, splinters still hurt.