The best days of our lives have a way of coming and going faster than all the rest. Last Friday, the start of Easter weekend, was the first great day I've had in a long time, and—like most good things—it escaped from my grasp before I could really take it all in. Scott and I drove the three hours from Houston to Rayne in the afternoon, arriving to find my parents and older brothers already making themselves comfortable in our brand new house.

It's amazing how any place on Earth can feel like home when you're surrounded by people you love.

But this place, more than any other, reminded me of home. A house made of tin, on a pond in the middle of nowhere, with a giant dining room table and windows all around. Home. Our fortress of solitude. I felt it when I walked in the door. And then again when I spotted the Easter decorations on the counter. And many more times as the weekend wore on.

Sitting on the porch swing with my dad before dinner, conversation interspersed with quiet thought, the sun slowly taking its leave to make room for a big, red moon. Catching fish on the dock with jelly beans, sandwiched between brother and husband-to-be. A home cooked meal served by my tireless mother, a space set at the table for each of us. Bottles of wine emptied slowly, and water gulped from mason jars. Good old fashioned board games played until the onset of heavy eyelids. Crawling under the covers and drifting off to sleep, silent prayers dissolving into dreams.

And just like that, the day was gone. But even now, it is everything.

I can't really describe the kind of peace that comes with being home, wherever that may be.

On a porch swing while the sun sets, nose-deep in a good book at midnight, on a stage in front of hundreds of strangers, wrapped in a lover's arms. It may look different to different people, but the feeling remains the same. The joy is pure, childlike. Just a moment in time that makes you feel whole. Safe. Like everything is going to work out.

And this fullness of life made me want to cry tears of relief. That after so many months of searching for something I could never quite put my finger on, it found me where I least expected it.

In a house made of tin, on a field in the middle of nowhere. There was my state of grace.