And oh, these twelve days have been a whirlwind.
At first, it was hard. There were so many luxuries I missed about home; I stood in the shower one afternoon and cried, mourning the loss of my semester off. Part of me hated the fact that I suddenly had responsibilities: prepare meals for everyone, do chores, wash my dishes, scrub the inside of the oven... Then, another part of me loathed sleeping in a communal dorm - on a top bunk.
And beyond my shallow concerns, there were deeper ones.
"Mom, I just don't think I fit in," I whispered into the phone one morning. "Everyone already has their own friends. I'm the new girl. I don't fit."
Those doubts have since begun to ebb.
The girls in this house, I'm learning, are some of the most kind-hearted people I have ever met. As I've slowly been building relationships, I can see why God opened the door of Stratford House for me. I may not have a clique of my own, but I do know that these women are worth getting to know. These women are unique, these women are passionate, these women are real.
Last week, my two roommates and I were talking, lounging on our futon, when one of them said something that stuck: "God puts us in these rooms, with these roommates, for a reason," she told me, her eyes aglow. "He puts us where we need to be."
After spending this much time with my roommates, I couldn't agree more. I am so completely confident that He is weaving my story together, blessing me with a community of believers and a cozy place to live.
It's been twelve days, only twelve days, and I already know that I am home.
We wake up to a sweet note like this every morning, left on the breakfast table by the first girl awake. It is the absolute right way to start each day.