Our home.

Six years. 

That's how long we've been waiting for a house. 

Six years to wait sort of felt like a long time. 

And in many ways, I had sort of resigned myself to the process of waiting. I knew the feeling of waiting. 

Waiting on Paul to get well, waiting on the phone calls from the doctors to give us answers, waiting for the surgeon to come out, and I could go on and on.  

Waiting changes a person. Waiting on a house? Waiting on a baby? Waiting on the right person? Waiting on any sort of answer? Well that is what changes you. 

It grows you, it stretches you, it pushes the limits of your faith, and sometimes it makes you angry and just plain over it all. 

But hope is a funny thing. Just when you say I AM DONE, hope will rise. 

It's this verse: But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will RUN AND NOT GROW WEARY, they will walk and not be faint.

The new strength comes, and it keeps coming.

Until it's six years later, and you are breaking ground on a new home. 

Our home. 

I didn't blog about it. 

I didn't Facebook about it.

I didn't Twitter about it.

I didn't do anything much about it, except tell close friends and family.

I just kept this in my heart, with I will admit it, fear. I was afraid things would fall through, so I thought it best to just keep mum. 

So for months we've been going through this whole house process.

I won't even admit how many annoying pictures I've taken.

Paul and I would send each other the most MUNDANE pictures. OH HEY, LOOK AT THIS! IT'S A FLOOR.

LOOK SOME BABY SHRUBS.

Yeah, we've almost bored ourselves.

But all the monontoneous pictures weren't in vain.

Because in the end nothing fell through, and now we own a home.

Our home.

A moment I've been waiting six years for.