H is for Home

 When our kids were little, our house was small to hold all 6 of us. The kind of small where you could hear every conversation, every slammed door and every mysterious crash that required me to yell “WHAT WAS THAT?” From two rooms away. Our house needed repairs we couldn’t always afford and updates we had to put off. However, it was full, full of noises, messes, arguments, laughter, love and the constant hum of life happening all at once.

That house worked hard back then. It held scraped knees and late night homework, birthday cakes squeezed onto a crowded table and laundry piles that never seemed to shrink, no matter how many loads I did. It wasn’t perfect, but neither were we and somehow, that made it fit us just right.

We ended up moving to another house on the same street, the structure was sturdier and we painted and put in a new floor. Still not necessarily anyone’s dream home, still humble to say the least, but it worked, God provided and we were grateful.

The kids grew up and one by one, my baby birds left the nest. That didn’t happen all at once, but it happened faster than I thought it would. The days were often long but the years were short.

 Each goodbye carved out a little more space, not just in bedrooms, but in my heart. I won’t pretend it was easy. There is a quiet that comes after raising children that no one really prepares you for. The house didn’t shrink, but it felt bigger somehow…emptier.

Slowly, something shifted.

When the house was kid less, it didn’t feel like home for a while, I didn’t even look forward to coming home. But, over time it got easier. Now all these years later, I can honestly say I love sharing our home with Mike, Oscar (our dog) and Tortellini (our turtle). The pace is different, quieter, gentler. We know where everything is (for the most part). There’s comfort in knowing this space doesn’t have to be everything to everyone anymore. It just has to be home to us.

The grandkids come to visit, some more than others and not as often as I’d like. They bring the noise back. Toys appear out of nowhere. Laughter fills the rooms again, snacks vanish and then after hugs, kisses and just enough chaos to remind me I still have it, they go home. I love it… it’s the best of both worlds.

Our house is still nothing to write home about. It’ll never be featured in a magazine. There are things we would change if we could, things we’d fix if money grew on trees. But it’s ours. It meets our needs. It shelters us, holds our memories, and gives us a place to rest after a long day. Maybe that’s what home really is, not the size or condition, not how it looks to others, but how it provides for us.

So yes, I am grateful. Grateful for a home(s) that has survived raising kids, pets, Mike and me. A home that doesn’t care that the ceilings aren’t perfect or if the repairs are still on the “to-do” list. It’s held laughter, tears, chaos, quiet and the occasional toy or sippy cup left behind by a grandchild. It may not be much to look at, but it’s ours and these days, that feels like more than enough. A little worn, a little lived in, and exactly enough.

“But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that.” ~ 1Timothy 6:8

“Be content with what you have.” ~ Hebrew 13:5

“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord ~ Joshua 24-15