Our First Little... Home

I know some people will understand and some people will roll their eyes... but it's easy for me to be a little nostalgic about the places I've lived, specifically where I slept, ate, cried and laughed. These are what I call spaces. We move in these spaces and these spaces somehow shape our lives, comfort us, keep others out and allow us room to grow and sometimes we can outgrow these spaces.

I remember every place I've ever lived. I remember how in each space, my room has always been a sanctuary and my kitchen the place where I chose to "host". From San Antonio, to Fort Worth, to South Africa, to North Carolina and now, Ohio; I've lived in over 10 spaces. I've had several roommates who became friends, who became like family, and I think about each one as something familiar flickers across my daily activities in my "new" space. An episode of Parks and Rec, the smell of pizza, dirty snow boots, Italian dressing, and unexpected knocks on the door all remind me of one sweet friend or another.

You probably notice I keep saying "space" where some might say "home." You see, I've always made sure to define these spaces as just that... a space.

At one time or another I convinced myself that "home" was permanent and immovable (maybe because Webster's Dictionary defines it that way-go ahead look it up). But for me, home meant I'd have to leave the people I loved and the places that felt intimate and I'd be home-less or even far away from home. It seemed like a safe thing for me to do, to define these places as spaces.

Yet this has somehow changed for me...

Because here I am, with my life-long roommate packing up our "1st year" memories and the few remnants of our single lives that are now combined into our married home, thinking about how this space served us well and showed us some sweet times and some times of growth. I cried and laughed and laughed so hard I cried. I cooked several meals, hosted new friends, old friends and sweet family. I cut my hand pretty badly and then recovered from a surgery here. We stayed up late, got up early and I danced around while Jake watched and on some sweet and spontaneous occasions, he danced with me. This space became home.

It's weird I know. I'm weird. But I say all of this because I'm thankful for each space and what its meant for my growth. I find these spaces a learning experience and yeah, it's okay that "home" isn't just a place anymore, it's the people I love and care for, and in turn, they've cared for me. Home is 6'3'', wears many hats, and drives me to Oklahoma, Texas, Ohio, the emergency room and back. Home is where I've laid my little heart to rest as permanently as it can. At least until I actually get Home, Heaven Home, and that's another post for another time.

My favorite little scene in our first home were these little vases that sat in our kitchen window.
Usually on quiet mornings when I'd see a change in the color of the clouds, I knew there'd be a sunrise.
When the sun doesn't always shine, you take a little more time to appreciate when it does.