I’m just going to say it. I miss Colorado.
I was doing a pretty good job of holding myself together here in Kansas. I’m grateful for the new friends I’ve made, the fact that one of my old friends from high school happened to move to Overland Park two weeks before I did, and that Kansas City has a lot to do. Also, let’s not forget the amazing barbeque down the road from my house.
But last week I got sick with the flu. Actually our whole family got sick. Sickness does something weird to me—I get depressed. So, in spite of all the strength I’ve exerted to stay positive about our new life, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I miss home. I wanted to be sick at “home” in Colorado, not in this foreign land where I don’t have a family doctor yet and I still have to think extra hard to remember where the nearest pharmacy is.
As I lay here on the couch last week, I read reports of snow coming through the Rockies again. A few weeks ago, we had thunderstorms here in Kansas. Yes, thunderstorms in January.
Lord, where did you send us to? I mean it’s not the edge of the earth or anything, but I prefer this:
Picture taken last week by our friend Rozan.
After nearly a week in bed, I woke up to the sight of snow on Monday morning. Tiny, floating pieces of home. In the afternoon, the girls bundled up and went out to play in our back area. They laughed and giggled out there until the sun started to go down, and Jeff called our bundles of joy back into the house.
“Mama, I don’t miss our old home anymore,” Kaelyn informed me.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I got to play in the snow,” she smiled.
I don’t know what we’ll do if God ever sends us to Florida. For now, I’m thankful for the recent sticky, white flakes to help Kansas feel more like home.