Once upon a time I moved with my family from a small town to a big city. I thought I would like it but once we were there I found myself feeling homesick and frightened.
Out of desperation I took a job with a small apartment and no privacy with long hours and a demanding boss. I was miserable.
Then another job with a new company came open and at the interview I was told "It comes with a three bedroom house". While we waited impatiently to see if I had gotten the job Justin and I drove by the house at least once a day.
The job was mine and we moved in and suddenly I could relax. It was like I'd been holding my breath for the three months we'd been in Portland and finally I could exhale.
This house felt like home. It put us in a great school district and an amazing ward. It shielded me from the demands of my job.
Every night for three years I thanked my Heavenly Father for my house. A house, with a yard and driveway in the middle of the city, with a perfect job and office- it truly was my own personal miracle.
Then Justin graduated and it was time to move on. I had to leave my house. Packing up and imagining someone else living there hurt a lot.
We're in Idaho now and things are good.
But I'll always love and miss that little house in Portland where we grew and learned so much and where we were so happy.
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