Another year…and I am still here!
In my home…a cup of tea, sweetened with honey, a book to read…perhaps to write, and a warm hand tucked in mine. These things delight me; make my home a refuge from all that would trouble me. Beneath this roof, I find a place of beauty and comfort, things that I love, that offer constant joy and inspiration. Over the years, I have carefully created an ambiance that inspires my soul, that gives and gives, over and over—happiness with no attachments.
At my birth, home was the Midwest, valleys and hills, creeks and streams, farmland and village. The soil dried between my toes and never quite washed away, so I am part of it, still. Yet, I have known other homes, other climes, places of majestic mountain peaks and blooming deserts. I have known the sun in its strength and the winter snows with icicles that reached to the ground. In every place, I made my home.
Coming from a legacy of Scottish ancestors, I am endowed with the blood of that race, traits that run deep that form character, personality, likes and dislikes, things in nature that are infused genetically and were nurtured and fostered by family. From my grandparents, came a love of the land, and generations before, a love of freedom, both physical and spiritual. The things I leaned from my parents and grandparents are invaluable and a part of who I am.
As a writer, I strive to be true to my self, to my readers, to all who know me, and most of all, true to God. As a pastor’s wife, I seek balance and wisdom to be a blessing and help to God’s flock, to my sheep. To my husband, I am wife, soul mate, his only love and he…mine.
Although the farm in the Midwest will always be near and dear to my heart, where I now live is the heart-warmth of home this day. As the new year unfolds before me, I will move forward with the times, trusting in God to go before me, to order my steps, to guide me through another year.
With another new year, I will accept the challenges it brings, but I will never forget the past, the things that made me who I am. When I piece together the fragments of my ancestors lives, lived so long ago in a country that rumbles beneath my feet as though calling to a wandering child, I see myself in the people, I understand their struggles, believe in their dreams and know that once, I belonged to them and they are part of me…still…still.
