Tuesday, February 14

I have always love the land.
I've been in big cities with buildings stretched toward heaven, wandered crowded museums, toured and explored in the places man has built.
But I love the land.
And admittedly wonder how people can love God and despise the creation He made.


My children know that the smell of rain in the woods reminds me of camping, since every camping trip as a child was accompanied by rain.
And I loved it.



When I was a girl, I'd trip and meander my way behind my dad into the woods, holding surveying stakes and tape and looking for old fence post corners and notches in trees.
I thought I'd be a surveyor too.


Sitting by the creek up at camp this past weekend was drinking in a cup of the bitter with the sweet.  Toes in the cool creek, kiddos splashing and catching crayfish, Benjamin and I in the shade, while Sean hiked with friends and I thought about saying goodbye to the cabin that Sean built with sweat and friends and an old suburban.


This world is not my home.  The places I go, the places I love, where I raise my children and then move on, bring new babies home and then move on, sleep under the stars and lean my head on Sean's shoulder beside campfires - all these are just stops along the sojourn

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