On vacation I experienced a happy pang of nostalgia. Many of them actually, but none so strong as the one I felt as I carried my sleeping son into Brenyn and Plamen's house. The warm air, the dark illuminated only by warm street and house lights. Being bone tired, except now being tired and doing the carrying instead of being tired and getting carried. Microcosms of the bigger pictures, from my past and as a child of God.
I'm so blessed and glad to be made aware of it.