Home is Where the Lake Is
You, my readers, may remember a post in early April called “Sight Unseen.” In it I shared the story of how Mike, prior to our wedding, found a house for us on a lake in Florida. I was living in Ohio. Still, we put it under contract without me seeing it. If you missed that one, I’ll share the link at the end of this post.
I have now seen the house.
Not only that, Mike and I have moved in…into a dream.
Note… Not a nightmare. A dream.
Not that it’s fancy.
Not that it’s a mansion.
It is “Just Right.”
Okay, maybe that sounds a bit like Goldilocks, but the truth is the truth. This place is perfect for us.
We moved in slowly. One piece at a time. The dining room set my new sister-in-law offered us looks as if it was made for the space. Some chairs she donated to the cause appear as if they were designed for the small square table Mike already had. We put it in the breakfast nook. We bought new bedroom furniture along with a couple of sofas and televisions and moved in.
We’re still learning about the house. Although we were initially told our lake is called Henderson, we have since learned we are situated on Lake Tsala Apopka. It is one in a chain of lakes called the Tsala Apopka Chain. After church on Sunday, we took a boat ride through several of the lakes, including Henderson. It is all unbelievably beautiful. I literally giggled and grinned the entire time.
As I write, I am sitting outside, watching Mike cut the grass.
"My Office with a View."
But it isn’t about the house or the furniture or the lake or even the view.
It’s about that settled feeling you experience when you know you are “home.”
That feeling of rest opposed to restlessness.
That breathing of fresh air sprinkled with sunshine.
Home is where you find peace in a world filled with pressure and tension, and chaos. It is…or always should be…that safe haven you crave when everyone else seems to be going crazy.
And for me? Home is sitting outside, looking out over the lake, and writing my blog. The American flag near our dock sways with the lakeside wind. The Spanish moss, hanging from tree branches canopying the lawn, moves like delicate gray lace in the gentle breeze.
|Spanish Moss in the Magnolias
Mike is still mowing. (Probably because he likes driving his new lawn tractor.)
Anyone can buy a house. A house is brick and mortar.
A home is created when it is furnished with love and peacefulness… and a little Spanish moss swaying in the magnolia trees by the lake.
|Well, a guy can only mow so much....
To read how Mike bought the house without me first seeing it, CLICK HERE