I couldn’t help but smile when I saw it. During the official welcome of our family in an Hogar de Vida staff meeting, I glanced down at my sandaled feet. Little white freckles peeped happily back up at me.
There was flour dusting my toes.
I didn’t even brush it off. My heart was so content with our welcome and the baking spree that had decorated me. That morning my mixer had labored over wheat bread for our family, cinnamon rolls for the meeting, and rolls for the team’s dinner. I was tired, but happy. This is what I was made to do.
That feeling has warmed my heart many times over the last few weeks. We’ve hosted three teams from pickup to drop off, shared meals and the story of God’s work in our lives, shopped, cooked, cleaned, sanded, painted, and learned names to match beautiful faces. On the trail behind us are a good many “firsts,” marking out the path to the feeling of “home.” I have carried a one month old new arrival from the house tia’s arms to a medical eval, feeling the flutters of first-mom jitters all over again. We now know just where to put the glass in the refrigerator to catch the condensation runoff that’s supposed to be routed below, and where to get our favorite produce at the farmers market. We can see the work the Lord is doing here, and the difference that it makes every day.
Familiarity has paved the way. Evenings spent reading books aloud on our couch, early mornings hanging laundry. Goodnight kisses, Spanish greetings, movie nights, and bright sunrises. My running shoes have ventured out to tread the hills, and my lungs have caught up. Joy has come again.
We are home.