The first day we moved in there were soccer games all day long at the park behind us. On such a warm day we flung open the windows and peals of laughter floated on the autumn breeze and filled the cluttered living room. Tonight the lights are off at the baseball diamond and the only sounds are the dishwasher, washing machine and James Taylor singing on Pandora.
I love this little place. Unlike our first apartment it has truly been home. In one of my favorite books from growing up: "Anne's House of Dreams" (Of the Anne of Green Gables series) there is a quote that has stuck with me since I was 10 years old. "I heard an old minister say that a house was not a real home until it had been consecrated by a birth, a wedding and a death." In the almost three years we have lived in this home we have enjoyed wonderful babies of friends crawling and toddling around our living room (not to mention our adorable niece.) We have witnessed good friends go from dating to engaged to married. This apartment has soaked up the sweet laughter of friends over many a table of food, savoring the conversation. It also has silently listened to our tears and observed death occurring within its walls, twice. Two expectant summers have come and gone in this apartment and tonight it is still just the two of us who rest our heads here.
Tomorrow I turn 26 years old and on Sunday, Nate will follow. We are now officially in our "late twenties." By this time in my life, I expected to be a mother, but God obviously has different plans for the timing of such a gift. I could easily fall into self-pity over yet another summer coming and going without a baby to see and hold, but when I look around out living room I am so overwhelmed with joy there is barely any room for sadness.
I see our "new to us" dining table that every other Monday anywhere from 4-12 of our friends come in that front door laden with food and drink to spend time around. I am sitting on a couch that has welcomed several people as overnight guests. Our cork collection is overflowing its glass bowl and with each cork there has to be a story of the night that wine was consumed. I see the flickering remains of the sunset to the west and I thank God for allowing us to live in such a wonderful location. Beautiful flowers from my mum's garden adorn the coffee table and I am astonished yet again that Mum and Dad live just a ferry ride away.
Some days I hate these walls for being stark white, but I just need to stop and remember how marvelous white can be. They have been a bare canvas for a very full, challenging and glorious few years in this home.
