The Little House

The tears streamed down my face, as I choked out the words, “The windows and shutters were fixed and once again they painted her a lovely shade of pink. As the little house settled down on her new foundation, she smiled happily….Once again she was lived in and taken care of.”  *

A little girl asked me, “Mommy, why are you crying? Are you sad?”

No, love, I am happy, as happy as this Little House is. Our house is this Little House: It was falling down and rather than giving up on it and moving away or tearing it all down, we fixed it, rebuilt it, and gave it a family.”

This past weekend we moved back home.

Home to the house that has sheltered us through some of the biggest storms of our life; home to where we rest, work and play; home to where we hope to stay for the rest of our days: Home. Plain and simple.

To me, a house has always been more than just a building you decide to live in, home is where dreams are made and lives lived. It is, for me, where your heart is.

Oh house, how I’ve missed you and I’m so glad you’re happy to see us too.

*The book I referenced is Virginia Lee Burton’s The Little House {affiliate link}.