307/365

I look out the bedroom window, over the roofs of houses, over increasingly bare tree limbs waving their last goodbye to fall. I could have been looking out the back window of my house in Omaha; except for the hill in the distance, the scene was that familiar. I realize once again- I never expected to love the Midwest. But I do.

I love the old houses, built in the early 20th century. I know exactly how the wood in their attics smell, the dust of the years, the bite of cold in the winter as you stick your head through the square in the ceiling. I know exactly the faint must of the basements, the creak of the wooden staircase, the drafts that try to drift through the window case gaps. When we lived in an old neighborhood, we knew that only three families had dwelt in the home before us. That sturdy old house matured during a time when people stayed put and in a place where families set roots for generations.

I love the buildings down in the town, the brick structures that have been used and re-purposed again and again over the decades, the faint paint of signs of years past still clinging to the exterior blocks. I look at the upper windows and wonder who lives over the shops and who has improved the doorways and who dreams about working on the street where generations have made their businesses. I cheer renovations and revitalization in long established areas of town, making the old new again.

I love the old churches, their steeples rising above the horizon, their stained glass windows giving a hint of the beauty inside. I love their pews, smoothed over decades of worship, generations of families filing in next to one another for praise and for prayer. I love the old signs that tell congregants what number hymn they are singing this Lord's Day and I love the rich wood that gleams from years of elbow polish and maybe some Old English besides. I hear the voices of the saints when I walk through the doors, the harmony of voices in song, the petitions of prayer uttered aloud. I think of the community that has mourned through hardship and rejoiced in celebration with one another.

I love the hospitality that greets us here. I love how eager Midwesterners are to show you their best. This week my hosts made sure that we visited The Best Donut Shop in town. They gave us a riding tour and told us how things were and how things have changed. They drove different routes to make sure we saw all the countryside. We finish thinking, what a great town! What can we see next time?!

I will always think of myself as a girl from the West. I'm awfully proud answer "New Mexico," when asked, "Where are you from?" But, I'm equally as proud to share how the nearly eight years we spent in Omaha impacted my life. Yes, my temperature finger has been on the edge of numb for a few days. Even so, I'm glad we have opportunity to be back in the Midwest.