sweet home.

We are so grateful for our time here and for being here in the big city. We know we are supposed to be here. And we have great friends. A sweet church. A cozy home. And we are really enjoying ourselves. In the same breath, it's a particularly nostalgic and illuminating time of year remembering all we left behind at home in the far away land of Texas. Five months is not that long of a time to be away but as families begin to come together, I am longing for certain familiar things or even simple luxuries we no longer have living in this faraway city.



I miss real Tex Mex. The kind I ate almost every single day because it was part of the culture of Austin.

I miss having a washer and dryer in our place. It is a wonderful wonderful thing, let me tell you. We do have a laundromat not too far away, but to have it right under your finger tips? Please, enjoy yours for me.

Speaking of luxuries, I miss the wonderful and spectacular invention called... the dishwasher! Seriously.

I miss space. Wide open space that declares freedom. And the sky. I miss the sky.

I miss the warmth and friendliness that is part of the Texas culture, though not always genuine, still it is reflective of kindness, the kindness that comes as fruit of a grateful and loving heart.

I miss my nieces coming to the office with the excitement and joy and wonder only they could bring in. They were always in awe of the space and thought that my office was the only place in the world that offered Starfall.

I miss my nieces. I miss snuggling them into me, my nose resting on their heads, praying for God's safety and protection over them, promising to do all I could to keep them safe.

I miss my family, sister and brother. my parents. I have the best parents, really.

I miss their dogs!

I miss our dear dear friends, whose lives and love poured into both of us and has shaped us by His love and grace.

I miss our sweet church.


We have been given much here. We have a fellowship of great friends and people who love the Lord. We get to do all of our own dishes. And, Texas, you are etched in the wrinkles of my smile and the soles of my boots (hiking boots, actually).