A Sunday Morning

We were blessed with a trip "home" last weekend. By home I mean Georgia, and by Georgia I mean the most blissfuly wonderful town that God has yet to create-Athens. Despite the 9 hour each way drive and the oppressive pregnancy headaches I cannot seem to get rid of, it was a magnificent weekend. We got to see family and friends. And not just any friends, the friends we spent time with this weekend are the kind that your soul recognizes. The kind you can pick up with at any time on any subject and you know each other, there's no background needed or explanation to be had. Before the move to Virginia, I took these kinds of friendships lightly. Now that I am, and have been pretty much, just meeting new people since May, I relish the kinds of social situations in which I'm not introducing myself and explaining why I don't have a job at present.

On Sunday we got to see an old friend marry a new friend and it was beautiful. But before that we got to go to our home church and it just felt right. The whole weekend just felt like a Sunday morning. You know when you're sitting (or standing) in church and the light is beautiful and you're singing a song that reaches to your core and you just feel the love of God swirling all around you? No matter how dark Saturday night may have been and what transpired there, you just feel forgiven and loved. You know you are home because you belong and are loved in full view all of your deformities and quirks. That's how Athens makes me feel. Well, not Athens, but the people who still call it home and we count as family and friends.

And that's why it would still be the greatest place on Earth, even if it were not home to the greatest football team in the nation (and Barberitos).