I miss my old house. It was the perfect cozy size and I keep thinking about it. I just want to keep this house stored away some where until I need a retirement house. I walked into it to start painting today and it smelled like my house, it felt like my house, the colors were my colors, and James looked so happy rolling around the floors while I painted. I miss it.
And maybe that is the point, as with all things that we love in life, they point us to our eternal home. We shouldn't be too comfortable here. I should long for my eternal home as much as I do for my little haven house on the south side of town. I don't. But I should. In a way it is good to force myself to be uncomfortable and to leave things I love. It shakes up my life. It is a reminder of what really matters.
I have a entire house post saved in my drafts, but I haven't unpacked my computer yet to be able to edit it. You can look forward to more house sappiness in a week or two.
Edit: I guess what I miss is the smallness and coziness. I'm not used to big. I'm not sure if I like bigger better. The boys do.
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