THIS HOUSE, OUR HOME

This house is made up of walls that are made up of memories.

It has held our family well; from being just two of us with ample space to move about, to starting our family and bringing a sweet baby girl home to be our own, to bringing yet another sweet baby girl home to fill the spaces we had left.

This house has held my heart in ways I never thought it would. “A pit stop” is what we called it. It was always meant to be a place of pause for us until we moved on, but what we didn’t know was it was always meant to be the tiny home that held our growing family and ever-growing hearts.

This house has held desperate prayers and prayers of gratitude. It has held moments of frustration and stretching, of beauty, growth and learning.

This home has held my family.

It has held me during the night when I held a promised child I was learning to know and love as we grew together: her as a daughter, me as a mother. It has held me in desperately early morning wake ups, nursing a miracle I had lost hope for numerous times.

This floor has held me as I’ve dropped to my knees in frustration and thankfulness; squeezing prayers from pursed lips. It has kissed my knees as I’ve fallen to meet it and raised my arms in the living room to songs of gratitude.

The floors are pressed with the memories of tiny feet learning to walk; the walls marked with small hands leaning on them for assurance.

It has surrounded us and created a world within a world for us. The living room has been a stage for our girls as they sing about how Jesus is their superhero and how he makes them brave, not knowing that their simple songs have been faith-builders for me.

Our tiny kitchen is a precious room made up of many hours of sticky-handed, messy-faced, food-on-the-floor moments that will forever be etched into my mind and woven into the memories of my heart.

These walls hold the laughter of my children.

This home is the sacred place I was called “mamma” for the first time. It is the holy temple where I have seen the face of God in the faces of my children. It is the place I have seen the man I’ve always loved become the man who safely holds the hearts of two little girls.

This home is where he became a father, his most-cherished role.

This home holds the sanctified moments of hallelujah-songs written by a man with eyes facing heavenwards for the only name who deserves them.

This house is a hallelujah-home; a sometimes messy, disorganized one, but beautiful nonetheless. One established on the only Solid Rock we know.

It has held hallowed hallelujas and sacred “I’m sorrys”. It has heard birthday songs sung to little faces while cakes filled with caramel and topped with candles are enjoyed.

It has held cheerful celebrations for clumsy beautiful pictures of flowers and family and for the writing of first words.

These walls, this home will forever gently carry the echo of a family grateful for the space we have outgrown.

I’m so thankful for these walls and these floors and what they stand for. At the end of the day, it's just a house, and home is wherever my three promises are.