Home.

I’ve lived in an old white house, corn fields surrounding. My dog, Roosevelt on the cement block of porch. My horse, Brownie in the field. My sisters all about. As I grew, so did the house. Rooms added on, one by one throughout the years. I was brought to that home a baby and left a young woman with much to learn.

I lived in a tiny, square dorm room that was half mine; a best friend sharing the other side. Laguna Beach on the small tv and ramen noodles in paper bowls. Too many late nights where morning came much too soon. In that room I fell in love.

A light green house on a quiet street. Three friends joining. A slanted room on the top floor but a window that lead to the roof where the moon and starts felt just out of reach. Growing up.

An apartment where fun but also turmoil came. Many lessons learned. Regret.

My in-law’s basement. Newly married, finishing my last semester of college. Still much to learn.

I lived in a new state with a new last name and a new business in the works. An old house on a college street- parties going on that I was no longer a part of- a past life that had came and gone. A tub the size of a large sink- neighbors below that used their stove to heat the space. I worked hard and long hours living there, not a clue what I was doing- giving interviews to people older than me, making it up as I went along. A slight panic attack on a pickle bucket in the walk in cooler.

Another old house on main street- I remember ants in the kitchen and a large spider in the bathroom.

And then- our first, actual home. The first home that felt like my home the first 18 years of my life. On a newly developed cul-de-sac. That home changed my life in more ways than one. Water broke at 1 am- 2 days later a sweet baby girl in a pink and green outfit brought home. Church families, small groups- friends- community- another sweet baby swaddled and brought through the painted red front door. An idyllic setting. I did much of my growing in the 5 years I called this house a home, moving from my 20’s to my 30’s. My faith, who I thought God was, my sense of self- my insecurities all wrestled with. Another business opened. Loneliness. Missing my prior state. But accepting what was. I brought my 3rd sweet baby girl home and left that house 3 months later a new person than who I was when I first stepped inside.

Home.

The last 9 years I’ve lived here. Another sweet baby girl who will be starting Kindergarten soon. I’ve painted and wallpapered, dug dirt and planted trees. I’ve cried and struggled and laughed and thrived. The trees have grown, as have my girls. And right now, as I write, the house is growing- another room being added on. I’ve learned much but have much to learn. I know my planting and painting and wallpapering is not done, nor may it ever be. I like who I am in this home thanks to Jesus. This home is my safe place, my sanctuary filled with all the things I love. We can’t possibly know where life will take us, but for now, my roots are planted here. That is, until I’m called to my one true home with Him.

For all the homes I’ve been in are temporary- as this one will be too.

He is home.