In the beginning was a house.
Walls covered with dirty old wallpaper and frightfully-carpeted floors. Rooms and spaces and when I first saw it I thought, this could be a home. This could be our home. Beauty was there, in the bones as they say. So we signed the papers and packed the boxes and in we came. The children still small and busy, and years ahead in which to live and dream.
Almost a decade later, and the children and the dreams have made the house a home. The marks of the growing rise steadily up the doorpost where we’ve tracked them, these three boys, taller and taller each year. The marks of the living show in dents and scratches and bruises. In chipped paint and worn furniture and weary window coverings. The spaces are filled and the rooms are full, and it feels like the years in this house, almost a full decade of years, have vanished like smoke though the old brick chimney.
It’s October, the month of 31 Days, and I’ll be joining in the fun for the first time. I’ve not done a 31 Days before. I’m not much of a joiner, really. But this October I feel the tug of the challenge. I need this, I think.
For the month of October I’ll be blogging every day on the topic, loving my home. This place of worn and faded beauty. This friend who has loved us and served us well.
She’s been faithful, and this month I will love her back. We’ll have a second honeymoon, this house-turned-home and I.