Photo courtesy of umm... I forgot. I have no idea. Whoops.
Alabama, Arkansas / I sure love my ma and pa
Not the way that I do love you.
Ah, home / Let me come home
Home is wherever I'm with you.
Good 48-hour trip to Montgomery. Good long quiet times. Fam dinners. Running excursions where I didn't have to shiver in 2 layers of Under Armour. Great Auburn reunions and conversations over Starbucks paper cups with best friends.
Even better? The realization that even when I take a blow, no matter what--I. Can. Still Sing. Without really getting into things, for the first time, I took a little hit this weekend, and then realized it didn't really affect me like it would have a year ago. It just didn't. Ha. In fact, I even laid in bed and laughed over how "okay" I am, how after months of prayer, my January 2010 self would stare perplexed at me now. Our fountains of joy bubble up from the deepest well inside of us, and when you bottle that up and look at it under a microscope, all that's there has gotta be pure, absolute ecstacy that we serve a glorious King and we'll follow Him into this world and one day sit at His table--HIS, as in, the creator of every galaxy, molecule, angel, and starfish--because nothing can steal joy like that.
"You have made known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand."
- Psalms 16:11
Blog post title: "Home" by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros. Totes my new jammmm.