On August 1st we moved to Waconia. Back to my hometown, the land of The Lake, and cute little downtown shops and Catholic church bells ringing and Target. We left wide open spaces, cows moooing, a spacious farmhouse that I had finally gotten organized and decorated the way I wanted, our "En-Gedi", unplowed roads in winter and high utility bills.
Old Town Hall
We have hearts that more than anything want to do what He wants, so I think he leads even when we think we are being logical. Even with all our logical decision making, only God could have known the dominoes that would fall when we moved. One by one, each decision led to another, and the resulting feeling that this season is divine gift.
The other evening, as the snow fell softly and turned the night white, I lay cozy in bed, but missed the farm and the howling and shuddering wind that came with storms. It's quiet here in town, at least the weather is. The intermittent tractor sounds carrying across the open expanse have been replaced by the clatter of garbage trucks and snowplows, delivery trucks and postal traffic. As I thought about how I missed the isolated sounds of the gales galloping unhindered across 200 acres of bare open fields, the windows began to shudder here in my town home. Evidently some sounds never change.
Comforted, I fell right to sleep.