This isn’t just because I felt the need to have a picture of a teeny baby on this post, although pictures of teeny babies do always make me happy. But it occurred to me earlier today that it’s the 3 year anniversary of moving into our home. Which is when this picture was taken.

Just over 3 years ago we knew Micah was due to be born, but the condition that he could come home to be with us was that we had to move house. As many of you will know, on his due date we had a phone call to say that was the situation, and that very day this house came up to let. We viewed it on the Monday, put the deposit down on the Tuesday morning, and by the evening a newborn Micah was home with us. So 3 years ago today, when he was a few weeks old, we found ourselves moving house for the 5th time in 8 years.

And we were so grateful. For the answer to prayer. For the space. For the garden and the river and the safety, and for the provision at the very moment we needed it, to keep our little ones together.

Fast forward to last summer, 2 and a bit years later, and I started to lose sight of all the good things about our home, and all the reasons why it was a gift. I was frustrated with renting and the problems it brings. Envious of people who could buy a home and decorate it how they wanted. Ashamed of being nearly 40 and still not being in a ‘stable’ position. I wrestled with it and sulked and told God and good friends my frustrations and asked for contentment and a thankful heart.

Over the last few weeks I’ve kept thinking about families in flats, in the middle of cities, who are spending these weeks struggling for space and freedom. And today I looked out at my garden, and was reminded again just why I should remain thankful that 3 years ago we were given this home. Far bigger than the one we’d come from, and just when we needed it. And why I can be thankful that we are still here. We are isolated yes, but we are not confined. We are lucky to have lots of rooms and a garden and to look out on a river, and to have a sense of space and freedom. If nothing else, I hope I’ve gained a fresh perspective in these weeks, and am not so quick to complain.

Other than that reflective moment of the morning, I can’t honestly say I did a lot today. I was cold and tired and felt more like hibernating than I have done so far. I dug out some classic piano music, channelled my inner teenager, and played an iconic isolation tune, ‘On My Own…’.

Liam and I stood in the kitchen and watched a video of the sea, and pretended we’d been on a day trip back to Cornwall.

I finished a blanket for a special little girl, which I was asked to do quite some time ago. Nothing like a bit of quarantine to push you into finishing all the projects.

We had to say a sad goodbye to Kiwi, who had lived to the ripe old age of almost 2 years. The kids were appropriately sad. Maisie, who is a tough cookie and prides herself in not crying, was very emotional, and informed me it’s because she likes the animals more than the people at home. I think this nearly 13 year old is enjoying having so much family time. After about 10 minutes they all perked up and starting asking for a puppy. Oh how I laughed.

I came across this and wondered, if this was me on day 3, what hope is there for me on day 12? Thankfully friends have understood my basic needs and kept me stocked up in wine. I hear off licences are actually classed as an essential store now. It’s a funny old world out there.

Liam (who is feeling a bit better today) took two of the boys off for a walk where they enjoyed being chased by sheep, and I feel like I’ve actually stopped, for the first time in a while. And I was grateful for these verses, reminding me of God’s grace and understanding in my bad days and grumpy days, and how gently and kindly He knows and cares for me.

11 For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him;
12 as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us.
13 As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him.
14 For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. – Psalm 103:11-14