Wilkesboro, NC – Not so long ago, I thought I would never have a permanent home. You know what I mean: a house that is THEE house to be your haven, your safety, and comfort through the years. No matter what, that one building was YOUR building, your FAMILY’S building. – Your LAND.

Words like mortgage and insurance, financing, and many others frighten me.

I do not understand them, nor have I ever tried to understand.

I mean, I understood the definition of the terms; however, I lacked any absolute conviction in grasping their magnitude. General APRs, fluctuation – The Market! all these things trying to be held onto and controlled as if it were an endangered form of oxygen.

What am I rambling about?

Let’s switch the gears, shall we?

My wife and I bought a home. A log cabin. It is one county over from where we were living before, thirty-plus acres, several “extra” buildings along with the property… and it hit me. THIS IS REAL! My final home.

After parking a vehicle loaded with boxes, and looking at the cabin, I thought, it’s about time. My lips moved a prayer past themselves…

That was one month ago; to the day. Still, we are unpacking boxes (it is amazing how much clothing a person can accumulate when they have a great paying job, don’t like to get rid of things, and, generally, like clothes) cleaning, organizing, and managing… the list can go on.

And there are nine dogs to consider. That is a column in itself. All of it is worth it. Trust me – IT’S WORTH ALL THE WORK AND CONFUSION AND SECOND GUESSES.

Before all these blessings, I was a nobody. Done all ready gone nowhere, beyond wherever, with certainty being a simple fact of NOT knowing which way to turn or proceed. Now, I have a home, finished my second manuscript (my first book was published and made available earlier this year) I’m attending two writing courses, and the most wonderful woman agreed to be my wife… I was even ordained as a Reverend by the biographer and scholar William McKeen, Professor and Chairman, Department of Journalism at Boston University.

Bragadocious?

No.

That is not what this piece of prose is about.

I owe many thanks to those that kept me unsafe, the ones that tolerated me, and the ones that knew it would all work itself out.

I dedicate all I have done and will do, to the days and months, and years to come.

Welcome home, Rev. Locke