Monday, August 8, 2011
A house is not a home
I look forward to walking into the house I’ve had for 9 years—a house I’ve never felt completely settled into—and cooking, doing laundry, and relaxing with my family.
9 years of projects on this house, and none of them finished. Every project was an attempt to make it feel more like home to me. If the floors were this, if the walls were that, if I tear this out…….then it will feel more like home. No project was finished, because I quickly learned that it wasn’t the house that made the home---it was the heart. And a lonely heart dwells in a lonely house. Not a home. So my house has felt lonely to me on a very basic level since I purchased it—more of a jail than a home. Laundry, showers, and rest are the only things I used it for.
Right now, my house is full of exposed sheetrock, uninstalled lights, and unfinished paint jobs. But it is suddenly home. I have reason to be there, with people and things to look forward to. I have hope again. He has given me hope. She has opened my eyes.
I am thankful for the house now, after years of cursing it. I am thankful for the stability it has provided me, even as I tore into its walls, certain to make it change to fit my personality. In the end, it wasn’t about the layout, the finishes, the lights, or any of that cosmetic stuff. It was about my heart. The house is still the house it has always been. But my change of heart, and the presence of “their” hearts, has made it home.