Pulling into the driveway, our car bumbles over the big dip near the road, careening to the right. As I help my kiddies into the house, they know to step back as the storm door swings forward so it doesn’t knock them off the mismatched brick and concrete steps. We disentangle ourselves from winter gear and stumble from the sunroom to the dining room. I shut the glass paned door quickly before the first floor is frosted with the chilly air. As we head up the stairs for rest time, I know exactly how much to lower my head so that I don’t bump into the low curve in the ceiling at the top of the stairs.
Do you ever stop to think about the little peculiarities of your home? The striking characteristics or hidden features only you could point out? They shape how we move, rest, work and live, guiding us toward certain actions over others, inspiring us to new thoughts and feelings. Drafty windows, a creaky floor, wood floors or carpets, high ceilings or thin walls can all play a part in who we are coming to be, in small ways that add up. While I am constantly trying to practice detachment from material goods, there is no denying that things DO matter to our hylomorphic souls.
My husband and I hosted some friends for dinner a while back and one of our guests, almost as soon as he had crossed the threshold and stumbled through some polite greetings, looked about and said, “You know, you can tell a lot about the state of a person’s soul by the state of their home.” The boldness of his statement caught me a bit off guard. I blushed and quickly muttered something about how I hoped the state of our souls looked okay from what he saw. Thankfully, he meant only to compliment his hosts and yet his courtesy cast light on a much larger truth about living.
Home has been a word of longing for our family this year as we crave a home of our own, a place where we can stretch our legs, design as we choose and conform to our family’s needs. Currently, we live in an old house turned multifamily nestled in a “city with a small town feel.” We love the convenience of nearby parks, grocery stores a hop away, coffee shops within walking distance. Don’t get me wrong, there’s much to love about our location. But after welcoming our third child this fall, we feel very much at max capacity without a yard or larger play area for our budding gymnasts, I mean, children. It’s easy to trick myself into believing that our current home doesn’t count because it isn’t our own. That it’s just a temporary stepping stone before finally “arriving” at that big house with a spacious yard, cozy fireplace, and a wrap around porch. You know the one. It’s tempting to see all the “not good enough” features of our home, throw up my hands and just try to make it by. But like our friend so quaintly summarized, how we live reflects something about who we are, about our souls. So, in an effort to honor the dignity of the people living under our roof, we continue to care for the home that is not our own, but still ours by habitation.
A few months ago, while reading a newsletter from the colorful, creative Caroline Lunne, one of the few influencers I follow whose content sings of authenticity, I came across her response to the question, “What does it mean to be home?” in one of her email newsletters. Like the quick flicker of a match catching flame, this question lit itself into my mind and has been spreading ever since.
What does it mean to be home? In the space you’re living in right now?
Here’s my attempt at an answer.
Home is knowing where to step so the floor doesn’t creak as you softly tiptoe away from your sleeping child. Home is the feeling of falling into your own bed after a long day, the smell of your laundry detergent, the feel of your own sheets. Home is the comfort of a large, red couch that has seen all sorts of spills from little hands and the spring of jumping feet. Home is the taste of Eight O’Clock coffee brewed in a simple silver and black pot.
Home is where you have welcomed your children as tiny pink bundles and watched them grow and squeal and speak. Home is the kitchen floor you have cleaned more times than you can count. The smudge marks from tiny fingers on the window panes.
Home is the sound of a door opening to usher a loved one inside. The warmth of your kitchen after being outside in the cold. The voice of the old grey kettle singing for your tea and cocoa. Home is the stains on the stove that you can’t seem to scrub away. Home is the sound of a little baby boy breathing as he sleeps on his mother’s chest. The exhale of relief as you pull into your driveway after a long road trip. Home is the satisfaction of seeing your address handwritten on the front of an envelope.
Home is the glow of light from behind plaid curtains as you walk through the front door. Home is the comfort of a book and blanket on a cold evening. The presence of loved ones around the dinner table.
Home is knowing the best places to hide Christmas presents. The familiar feeling of your baby’s soft cheek against your own. The habit of running your fingers through your son’s hair as soon as he wakes up every morning. The instant recognition of your baby’s cry amongst other little voices.
If peace was a place, home would be it.
Home is faithfulness to yearly traditions. The glow of the red light beside the golden tabernacle. Home is knowing exactly where the utensil drawer is when a guest needs a fork. Home is the crackle of a fire in the stove, or on the TV (just the sound alone adds a cozy glow).
Home is where you can create without judgement, laugh without restraint and cry without fear. Its familiarity embodied into a space that’s yours, even if you don’t own the actual building.
What does it mean for YOU to be home?
