When I was little I dreamed of someday living in an old stone farmhouse with ivy creeping up the sides. A big tall tree with lots of swooping branches would provide the house with excellent shade in the winter. My children would climb it too. In front of the house would stretch a lush, green lawn and behind it would stand a big red barn. And in the big red barn there would live beautiful horses of every color. In the mornings I would ride my horses through the golden fields, along the tree line of a dense forest and breathe in fresh country air.
This still appeals to me. I would love for my husband and I to own some land someday and raise our children in the country where they can run around barefooted. In fact I would love this. It is a goal. But the details of that childhood dream have changed a bit. In fact they are rather blurry, mostly because I am learning that the details do not matter as much as I once thought. As long as I am with my husband and hopefully someday our children, I know that will be home, wherever we happen to be on the map. Ideally I would like to live on that little farm from my childhood dreams, but I would also be happy in a craftsman bungalow on a quiet street of a little town—a cute little place with a front porch and some trees. Or a small A-frame in a surprising color with a small vegetable garden in the middle of nowhere—a weathered home with a view of the distant mountains. No matter what house I see myself standing by in these new dreams, the man beside me is the same in them all. And the happiness I see on my face does not reflect the perfection of the house or place in which we live, but the hard work put into our marriage and friendship, and the many blessings of a simple life lived. This is my dream now—to cultivate my marriage, nurture a family with love, and build a true home no matter where I am or what house provides us shelter.