sweet.

I've had this post in my head for a few days now. Actually, it's been rattling around in my head for about a year, but about a day ago it came to fruition.

Let me back up. Last August, I stood on a hot, hot summer night, holding on tightly to my dear friend as we watched her house burn. The house, the yard, everything in it. Thankfully, the people were out. But everything else, all the memories, the photos, the antiques, the writings, the beloved baby blankets and stuffed cookie monsters, the school papers from her three boys - all gone. We stood on that street and I held on to my friend as every THING in her life disappeared. It was heartbreaking. It was overwhelming, and surreal, and frightening, and it made your heart want to just fall out of your chest and stop beating.

And I was lucky enough to have their family in my house a few days later, lucky enough to be able to just feed them, and house them, and love them, and give them a place to rest their dazed heads while they figured out what the hell to do next.

I was lucky enough to be there for the last year, watching them sort the details, and the insurance, and the receipts (OH DEAR LORD THE RECEIPTS!) and the replacing and watching them try to find a home. Because they needed a home. Not just a house. They needed a place that fit, that slipped on like that old, perfectly worn in pair of jeans. They needed it, and they deserved it.

Last night, I was lucky enough to see the fulfillment of that need. As the sun set over the fields of wheat, and the light turned everything golden, we sat down to dinner in their new backyard. We opened wine, fixed plates, fed babies, laughed, talked, ate off of beautiful new dishes, wiped our faces with pretty napkins. There was boy laughter everywhere, tree-climbing, ice-cream, and finally, the porch swing.

As we sat on the beautiful swing, on their wide, friendly, welcoming porch my heart was just full to bursting. My baby girl sat in her daddy's arms quiet and content, while he gently rocked the swing with his bare foot. My friend sat in her lovely (new to her) antique rocker. Her husband relaxed on the porch, passing out the last few bites of ice cream. I looked around and realized that there is so much sweetness - more than we can ever imagine until we taste it. One year ago we had the bitter taste of smoke in our mouths and our hair. But it was gone, replaced, and our children's laughter, the summer air, the golden fields coated our mouths like honey. We drank it in, and I looked at my friend, and I knew the goodness of life. And later, as we were getting ready to put our sleepy kids in the car, she looked at me and said "It's a good house. It feels like home." And that was all I had hoped they would find.