In the house I grew up and spent nearly 22 years of life in, there were specific things that to this day mark my memory with colors, smells, textures.
The floor to ceiling wall paper in our 20' ceiling living room of a snow-covered mountain.
The deer wallpaper in the family room.
The white ceramic lamps, and specifically, the one I broke.
The tweed couches with wooden arms. Green carpet, wood floors, woodstove, open windows.
These things almost carry a sixth sense with them in my mind.
Now, being a mother and a homemaker, I do not take lightly the responsibility to create my nest. What I gather to keep these walls warm and nurturing...it matters.
The meals I cook. The quilts we toss. The pictures that hang over our sleepy heads, and the plates that hold our meals where stories are shared and lessons taught...
These are important things.
There is a little girl who is watching. Learning. She's discovering what is safe. What is home.
This is where training happens. Where boundaries are established. Questions are unfurled and we allow protection within these comforts. Fragile human hearts grow in love and faith here; both hers and mine.
I take this very, very seriously.
That's why I am quick to make it feel like home. Especially now. Especially here.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(back with my sister-writers over at Finding Heaven. check 'em.)