Coming Home
As she meandered along the old dirt road, excitement built in her as she daydreamed about the old house her grandmother had left her. She knew it wasn't a mansion but with her passion for decorating and her imagination she knew it would become something she would treasure.
The old house soon appeared before her and she stood back to take in it's rustic charm.
"Gosh," she said aloud, "I can just see grandma sitting on those steps, sipping on a glass of iced tea!"
She surveyed the falling down roof over the porch, the balusters that needed repair, the steps that leaned a little to the left, and thought to herself, this will be as close to heaven as I'll get while I'm still breathing.
She made her way up the steps and jiggled the door until it opened. Her eyes feasted on the room and took in the sight; there in the center stood a fireplace, crumbling bricks had fallen to the floor, but it would still suffice for heat when she needed it. As for now, she would just open the windows to let in some fresh air. She made her way through to the rooms; on the right appeared to be a bedroom and around the left of the fireplace stood the heart of the house. The kitchen. Behind the kitchen was a back porch that contained an old wringer washer and a tattered curtain that concealed a makeshift bathroom.
This was going to be a project but with hard work and determination for ammunition, it would become her home until God called her to her final one.
She found a weathered broom and began sweeping the cobwebs from the ceiling and remnants from the floor some little creatures had left behind and sang happily to herself. A little while later she heard a clanging coming from outside and saw some cows had gathered in the front yard. "Well!" she exclaimed, "at least I'll not want for company!" She laughed to herself, picked up the broom and took back to her sweeping.
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