It’s during evenings like this present one that I wish I lived in a house. I am blessed with this apartment. It’s a great place for Lauren and I to begin our life together, but it can be noisy. I’m sitting the porch reflecting on my day, anticipating Lauren’s arrival, enjoying a wonderful beer, but all of that continues to be interrupted by whiny children yelling across the apartment complex.  I know that every neighborhood deals with their own unwanted noises, so I’m not thinking that a house would provide the utopia that I dream of.  But I can’t shake the dream of having a house some day.  I know that Lauren and I aren’t the “settle down and get a house” type of people (not that there’s anything wrong with that), and our conversations about a house often involve other people living there with us.  I want a house that creates a community.  I want the whiny children to be my children (well, not really, but you know what I mean).  I want a back yard that is filled with vegetables, people, tree swings, and laughter.  I want a house that welcomes the stranger and the broken and the healing.  I want a house that knows the needs of the neighbors and is quick to help however it can.  I want a house that shares in the rhythm of the seasons through school calendars, holiday celebrations, and planting cycles.

This is the house that I dream of.  A house who’s dwellers share life and all that entails.