We find ourselves in an interesting predicament. We just moved out of our apartment yesterday. When most people move, they go to the Post Office and fill out a change of address so that their mail can instantly be forwarded to where they are moving. You can still receive your bills on time. You can still receive your junk mail! And if we didn't have computers, you could still receive letters from friends. Sara and I, however, find ourselves sitting in a hotel room in Gallup, New Mexico. "Where are you moving to," you might ask. "Where should we send the 'just thinking of you' cards?" The truth is . . . we have no idea. Somewhere in Missouri there is a home which will have our name on it. Is that home in a nice neighborhood? Is that home an apartment/duplex/condo/house? Will there be a garage? Will Jacob have his own bedroom or will he sleep in his crib in the corner of the kitchen (due to lack of space) with the hum of the refrigerator to lull him to sleep at night? We don't know. Only time will tell. This is a strange feeling to be homeless. To not know where you will sleep that night. And then you realize that where ever you stop, as long as you're with your family, you're at home.