I’ve had conversations with several friends lately where we talk about how and where we’d like to live for this season of life. We imagine ourselves in the home of our dreams, a forever home. We picture cottages in quaint downtowns, ranch homes by the lake, homesteads and farms on country roads, and villas in 55+ communities. We talk about the concerns of growing older like how to keep up with yard work or manage stairs or running out of money. And perhaps all these concerns are valid. Or maybe they are just another way to worry. And worry can ruin a life by keeping us from living.
I suspect that home is more a feeling than a place and that the old adage — wherever you go, there you are — holds true.
I keep going back to the practice of gratitude. I already have a life that is more beautiful than I ever could have imagined or hoped for. By grace, I have more than I deserve or earned by any measure. If this is as good as it gets . . . I am counting my blessings.