I was watching some competition show the other day (on Food network no doubt) and when asked how he might spend his winnings, one of the contestants said that he and his wife would use it as a down payment on a house because his son was six years old and wanted a place to call “home”.
During all of my growing up years, my parents did not own the house we lived in – there was even a time when we lived in a travel trailer (which they did own) – and I never once felt like I was deprived of “home”.
“Home” was the place where I played and fought and laughed with my siblings.
“Home” was the place where I brought stray kitties that soon became beloved household pets.
“Home” was where my parents read to me, played with me, sometimes spanked or disciplined me, and tucked me safely into bed at night.
“Home” was where my family gathered every day for meals, daily devotions, board games, card games, and other activities that brought us together.
“Home” was where I learned to do chores (or to get out of them).
“Home” is where I learned to cook by hanging out in the kitchen with mom and watching her turn random ingredients into meals for her family.
“Home” is where I learned to swing a hammer, turn a screw and know the difference between pliers and a wrench by “helping” my dad with minor repairs and fixes around the house.
“Home” is where I learned to share, how to win (or somewhat gracefully lose) an argument. It’s where I learned about negotiation, extortion, and the unconditional love of a sibling!
“Home” is where I learned to read and where I learned to love to read.
“Home” is where I knew that no matter how messy things got, there was always love to be found.
Owning a house is nice, but you don’t have to own a house, or even live in a house, to have a “HOME”. “Home” is where you feel safe, where you find love, where you learn and grow, “home” really is where your heart is.