I’m sitting here in the quiet of the pace I’ve called home for the past 3 years and 7 months. The only other place I’ve lived besides my childhood home (I don’t really count the one year I lived in my college dorms). The home my husband and I have lived together for almost the first 3 years of our marriage. The home where I learned to live with so many people in ways that stretched me, but also brought me immense joy. The home where I became friends with the main housemate in ways that make me confident we will be friends long afterwards. The home husband and I got our first pet. The first time I could honestly say I was a resident of Boston, though this city has always been my home. The place where I’ve begun to figure out what makes a home for me not just tracking with my parents decisions. Where I threw parties, game nights, Thanksgivings, and picked out our Christmas tree. The home where I invited people over and could be the host. The place where I shared my life with others intentionally even when it was hard.
My little patch of Boston where I got to know people and serve them coffee with a smile, know the librarians, and memorized the regular bus route. I’m so glad in my own introverted, uncomfortable way I let myself root here. I know I’ll visit this place for awhile yet, but it will no longer be my home. I will rest in those memories when I think back on my life.
I will always be grateful when I heard God pushing me to move here even though it made no sense, but it has been a great blessing. So much community and life giving has grown out of being here. I’m so excited to be moving into a new space with my husband, but tonight I am thinking gratefully of all the memories and love I gained while living here. I love this home dearly, thank you for loving me so well in return.