I got a couple comments on my Titus 2:1 post about what color my eyes are since I promise these are my “real” eyes, even though I do wear contacts. Ignoring the swollen, itchy, red parts right now, they’re just blue. Like these…

Sorry about the strange photo quality lately. Without Picnik, everything right now is straight from the camera, with grainy shadows, pale skin, blurry, poor cropping and all.

My parents both had blue eyes. (I think the Cowboy has my Dad’s eyes.) Both my sister and I have blue eyes. Mr. Fix-It has blue eyes, and all our kids have blue eyes (naturally). So I guess I forget that in certain lights or with certain colors, they can be a little…noticeable. I’ve been told that when I get angry they can get a little ferocious-looking too, but you can’t believe everything you hear.

But do I wear contacts or are those my real eyes?  Umm…yes, and yes. {grin}

If you're wondering what my husband looks like...here ya go! Speedracer is his mini me.

Something else that I’ve been chewing over while I get ready to go to the Titus 2:1 Conference is home.

The conference is being held in Northern Virgina, and even though the actual definition of “northern Virginia” has expanded–a lot–over the last 15 years or so, that’s my hometown. I like to say that I’m from the “inner ring” of Northern Virginia. The part that’s always been Northern Virginia–even though everything practically down to Fredericksburg and out to Winchester is considered part of “NoVA.” (BTW, people from “NoVA” don’t call it “NoVA.”)

I’m originally from Falls Church. I actually grew up in the house my dad grew up in. And my momma was an Army brat, but after Vietnam her Dad worked at the Pentagon and they settled in for a while and she went through high school in Arlington. They lived their whole lives right there between Arlington and Fairfax County. I lived my whole life right in the same high school zone.

I think these are my Dad's eyes. Even when they're angry. Maybe even especially when they're angry.

It’s strange to think of my home as being somewhere that doesn’t have sheep, or wheat fields, or wild turkeys in the backyard. It’s strange to remember the me that didn’t know how to pull eggs from underneath a broody hen, or throw a sheep. The me that had never worn boots with grass cud splattered on them or picked up live chicks at the Post Office.

Popcisles are our favorite "special" porch-weather snack.

I used to go home every two or three months, no matter where I was living at the time. But since the accident, since my parents aren’t there any more, a year (or more!) will pass before it will occur to me that I haven’t been back in a while.

And yet, whenever I drive up 95 past Fredericksburg, my heart starts yearning forward because this is the road home.

The Ladybug's hair has gotten very long. We've spent all winter growing her bangs out.

I am so excited about this weekend. But please forgive me if I seem a little weepy. Coming home always gives me a little bittersweet, warm and empty feeling in my heart.

Rather than pulling into that familiar driveway, and entering that familiar doorway, and sitting in the familiar living room, with it’s familiar mish-mash of Franzzetta Conan prints and Green Bay Packer pennants…Sometime on Friday afternoon or Sunday afternoon I’ll be making my almost-Mother’s-Day-almost-accident-anniversary-Lord-help-me-this-hurts trek to a cold stone under a giant oak tree on Lee Highway.

It always leaves my heart feeling a little raw.

Oh how the moments you don't want to miss fly by!

The Lord is teaching me that home is not a place, but a condition of your heart.

That a wounded heart can be a softened heart, an open heart, a listening heart.

That pain is universal, but healing is of the Lord.

That intentional, biblical, living stretches each precious moment of life to its utmost value.

That a thankful, grateful heart wrings the last sweet drops of beauty from the simple everyday.

That love and encouragement and inspiration and service need not be limited by geography.

That Christian fellowship is a soothing gift sent from above.

I was so touched by Sabrina’s post last week about all the ways she’s turning her Titus 2:1 trip over to the Lord in prayer. As much as I was excited before, I really hit my knees since reading her post, and I just feel like God has much bigger things in mind for me this weekend than I first thought. Head things–yes. But heart things too. Big heart things.

Do you ever feel like there is more purpose in your weak moments more than your strong moments?