Before I moved into this house I said it was the first place that felt like my home since the miracle house on 345 6th Street in Tennessee. I lived there with some of the best friends of my life, both roommates and others who filled our open door home. When Christina and I drove in the driveway of our present home in December we gasped and collectively said that this was it. We were home. Windows, a front porch, a backyard, cozy, comfy rooms, an upstairs to dream about and live in: it was a no brainer.

But tonight, here, Summer reading on the couch, Christina laying on the floor with Fitzgerald, two friends in the kitchen making taco salad, me writing, music, like water, trickling from laptop speakers, here tonight, we are home.

So many times over the past two months I've braced myself, afraid to get too attached to this place--345 6th Street was the longest I'd lived in one place since leaving home in 2001. I'm realizing that I've grown afraid of being in one place long enough to grow accustomed to ritual and comfort--afraid of being sucked into the American Dream. Fight the American Dream has become my mantra. And yet here, with paint brushes spreading color on old furniture and candles lit, washed blankets piling over thrift store baskets and boys making taco salad in the kitchen, roommates who love one another and the same things, I am finding that home has sprung up around me. I think that's the difference between chasing an empty dream and waking one morning to find it thrust upon you. One is elusive and the other is a surprising gift.

I'm not saying that this home here will always be my portion, I've done this Christian thing long enough to realize that my plans aren't usually His plans, but I am saying that today I'm grateful today for the gift of this home.

50. Discovering new music.
51. The best coworker in the history of the world.
52. Lent and the opportunity to cut back, reflect, see, practice, know.
53. Self-discipline.
54. 50 cent bunches of orange roses the day after Valentine's Day.
54b. I don't even like roses. But it's the thought that counts. 50 cent thoughts especially.
55. The weather we're having here, the oddest winter in my history of living here: a record snowfall of about ten inches the whole winter.
56. Honesty.
57. She is moving home a week from today. Home! Here! We haven't lived in the same community since 2005.
58. A friend sitting at our dining room table tonight remarking how he loves our home because it's always full of creativity.
59. The hope that our creative heads can live up to that word.
60. Pineapple Cilantro candles.
61. Saving enough pennies to make this screenprinting press as soon as it's warm enough to use our garage.