I used to think that being home meant that I would settle into a stable dwelling place. In high school, my family started to move around a lot. We were conditioned to live out of unpacked boxes because we knew the next move was inevitable. It wasn’t until I met Josh that I found stability. I say ‘stability’ because I didn’t find home until recently. Let me explain.
Home isn’t just the place you lay your head at night, it’s something you make. It’s something that gives you comfort and contentment. It’s something you build and rearrange a million times. Home is the place you love to be and what you want to share with the ones you love. I’ve found it.
Don’t get me wrong, I am extremely grateful and appreciative of having this house. At one time in my life, we didn’t have four walls of our own but just because you live in it and own it, it doesn’t make it yours.
My home is one where the dog chases the cat because he knows secretly she loves it under all of her hissing. One where my Husband comes and gives me a big hug just as he comes in from work because he had a hard day. Home is when Netflix and ice cream in a salad bowl is an acceptable date night and where my husband thinks I look beautiful with a messy bun held up by a knitting needle while wearing an oversized Arrested Development T-shirt.
When we were given the keys to this place, Josh held my hand and said:
“I’m going to make this place your home.”
I believed him and expected him to. I realized now that most of my disappointments were stemmed from those expectations. How dare I let him carry that weight on his shoulders alone! It was something we had to do together. And it was never going to be MY home. It was going to be ours.
It is ours.