Home is where you get bruised and sunburned.

I live in one of the most beautiful places in the country, and I do not take enough advantage of that.

Last Sunday we ditched the kids (at Grandma's), played church hookey, and headed for a much-neglected hobby of ours: floating the Buffalo, our nation's first national river. Rain's been heavy this year, so we got to float from Steel Creek to Kyle's Landing, which is usually a spring-only float. The bluffs, the bird calls, the deep swimming holes and rapids and magnificent boulders... we had forgotten how much we love this. We've been back in the Ozarks for two years, but we've been busy with babies, and this was our first time back on the river together (my first time since we returned).

It will be years before our kids are big enough and good enough swimmers to go with us, but I think we made a decision as we paddled and talked (and argued about Who Made Us Tump): a good used canoe must be procured, because we want to be able to do this regularly.

It just felt like home.

Everything comes round again: The Whys

Why write here, now?

I used to write on a site called diary-x. It died a horrible unexpected death and I lost almost everything I'd written. That somehow zapped all my desire to write online for quite a while (along with, oh, Giving Birth and Moving Across the Country and other minor timesuckers). But I feel a need to record these days again, as my daughter's changing almost daily and our lives are in complete upheaval. So, a blog. Perhaps temporary, perhaps not.

Second, Husband and I have once again thrown caution (and church unhealth) to the wind and uprooted our lives in search of greener pastures. (Don't doubt me here-- the grass IS greener over here-- can't get much browner than the old place had become for us.) The reasons may or may not be revealed later. I don't care to rehash them now.

New (old) town, new (and old) friends, new (or old) church, new (hopefully old) house, new garden. Lots to record for posterity, especially now that we have a posterity-- our (new) six-month-old daughter. Who is, of course, the most beautiful and brilliant child in all the land.

Third, we're returning to a small town that we fled without a backward glance as we went to college. I don't regret that, as we're different and broader people because of our adventures in bigger places. But the more we stayed away, somehow, the more attractive the simpler, slower life of our hometown looked. Can a young big-city couple reestablish themselves in a small-town community without some rocky times? I doubt it.

There will be spiritual musings and churchhunting.There will be proud-mama posts.There will be househunting.There will be gardening. I can't imagine that this little spot would be of interest to anyone but me and a few close friends, but if you've stopped by to watch me muse and record and laugh and rant, you're welcome here. Just say hello and let me know you're reading.

Rootsome.

I'm rootsome these days-- on many levels.

Roots, as in one's own roots, the place from which you come, geographically or genetically. We just moved back to an old hometown of ours-- my parents' town-- after 14 years or so of sowing our geographical oats. We're near much of our extended family. This feels right on so many levels. (More, I'm sure, on this later.)

Roots, as in "digging around for truffles." I'm a rooter. I love to discover new knowledge, play with the ideas for new projects, scheme and search and dream and diagram. You'll see me do this about our houses, our future, sustainability issues, and whatever kitchen appliance we're about to buy. It sounds a bit piggish, but I love to get my nose into something and go hunting for more of it.

Roots, as in those things that hang down beneath plants. I find great joy and great wisdom in gardening-- I love and live the garden as a metaphor for life. God communicates with me best when I'm all covered with dirt and compost. I'm all about those planty spiritual metaphors.

Roots are vital, but hidden. Most people don't know much about them or bother to appreciate them properly. Without them, though, the trees and plants of my garden and my beloved mountains would topple, and the earth would erode away.

Without the roots that tethered me to my sources over the past few years-- my family, my Ozark hills, my Christ-- I too could have been eroded away. I survived, but just, and now I want to strengthening those strands that held me in place. They're absolutely vital.

I'm trying to pay more attention to matters of rootedness these days. It's making life richer and more lovely than it's been in a long, long time.

And I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in your hearts as you trust in him. May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love.

And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love really is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is so great you will never fully understand it.

Then you will be filled with the fullness of life and power that comes from God

(Ephesians 3:17-19 New Living Translation).