home.

They say that home is more than just a building and walls, and that is right and true. There are people that build your life more than any building could. I feel like I've always known that. True, there are irreplaceable people who build a home.

But today, I had one of those touchy-feely-melancholy moments listening to that country song where I realized, these brick walls really will be missed. Somehow I form attachments with this structure. With this house, this little spot of ground in the world that my parents call their own. I've formed an irreplaceable attachment with this building. How strange... 

Ma'am I know, you don't know me from Adam.

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.

And up those stairs, in that little back bedroom,

Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.

And I bet you didn't know under that live oak,

My favorite dog is buried in the yard.

I never put too much stock in Miranda Lambert except for this song. This once where she goes back to her childhood home and can't get over how much of herself is still there.

I stepped back today and realized how much of myself is here, in this four-walled brick home that I was brought to when I was only three days old. how can you spent twenty years in one spot and not form some sort of bond?

because, yes, I did all my homework in that back bedroom. And yes, that backyard is home to my favorite swing and my childhood pet. And yes, that is where I built forts and snowmen and hideaways. There in the yard is where that giant tree was cut down, years ago. That uneven patch is where the dog would dig underground fortresses. Yes, that is the house where we cried our hearts out and laughed our hearts back in. That is the room where we gathered to celebrate every birthday, every Christmas, every Easter. That is the spot where an Easter egg was hidden every year. 

I can show you every creak in the floorboard to avoid when you come home at midnight to a quiet house. I can show you every door that squeaks and every quirk of the faucet and every dip in the basement floor. I can show you the dark, drafty basement room where monsters lived, when I was little, of course. I can show you where all the Christmas decorations are hidden and where Dad's old workbench is rid with cobwebs.

I will never forget the outline of the backyard  trees against the sky. They form a specific pattern. I have woken up to that pattern every morning for twenty years. 

This is the most sappy thing I have ever said, but it is true: I think I will actually cry when the giant maple tree in the backyard disappears. That will always be the best tree-swing tree in the whole world. It's where I fell off and skinned my elbow when I was five. It's where I swung back and forth for an hour when I was nine, making up stories to fill the time. It's where I confessed all my secrets to my best friend when I was eleven. It's where the lawnmower always hit the swing, every time I mowed the lawn when I was seventeen.

That spot in the lawn where the grass is yellow, there used to be a pool there. When I was younger, I tried to push my older brother in, giggling mischievously. Only mere minutes later, I was thrown in by the same brother.

That is where my graduation tent was. That is the spot where our dog caught a chipmunk. That is the place where I dropped my keys in a very tiny hole in between the house and the steps and had to call someone to get them out for me. That is the window that my dad broke when we were locked out of our house. (Which may or may not have been my fault. :) )

There is the tree that blooms every Easter, where we took family pictures for years. There is the spot on the concrete where my brothers and I spilled oil the first time each of us did our first oil change. Right there is the window that you can climb in and out of when you're locked out of the house.

Sometimes I feel like George Bailey from It's a Wonderful Life when he runs down the steps and the end of the stair banister twists off. every. single. time that he comes down the stairs. It annoys him every time, and finally climaxes to his frustration at "this old, drafty house." 

But then, at the end of the movie, when  realizes the importance of his family and his home, he comes home and says "Hello, you wonderful old, drafty house!" with much more fervor and enthusiasm. He twists off the banister and shouts with joy. Why? Because that is his home, and if it's home, then the people he loves are inside. 

Here's the thing I love about this house: it's home. and it will always be home, when I'm forty and I bring my children here. when I'm sixty and my kids have their own homes. when I'm eighty and this home probably won't exist anymore. it will still be home. always. 

this is a beautiful, beautiful place.

dear sisters:

it's beautiful. every bit is beautiful. The steps you take upon the wet pavement and the tenacity of your soul. Your unmanageable hair and your optimistic spirit. The words in your head and the speed of your heart. The spot on your thumb where your pencil creates a callous. The same mundane path across campus that you travel every day. The mole on your face that's been there since birth. The mismatched socks and the trouble you receive for being a lover of God. The alarm that you've snoozed five times and the breakfast that you skipped because you were late. The polka dot dress that adorns your frame and the friendly sweatpants that stayed with you through many challenges.

it's so beautiful. I know you don't see it that way, but that is the way it is seen by your Father. every step on your unique path, and every stubborn hair that returns to its original place, and every time you burst into tears for the tiniest reasons: it is all held in the hands of a perfect Creator.

Every tear you shed is kept in His bottle. Nothing about you is wasted. Nothing goes unnoticed, left by the wayside, forgotten, hindered. He doesn't brush away your problems. They are not insignificant to Him. They are priority for Him because you are priority. There is nothing too large for Him, and nothing too shocking for Him.

In your simple routine, tarry a while longer to meditate on this glorious thought: "Earth holds no sorrow that heaven can't heal." (David Crowder.) For nothing is too large or too weighty for Him. His burden is easy and His yoke is light.

You are so very beautiful. Don't feel that you have to prove it in order to be it. You don't have to prove or earn your beauty in order to display it. It has already been proven. The cross so very pointedly proved that you are beautiful. you are worth it. all you must do is seize it, accept it, live it.

Accept love. Allow it in. Let it be. It's okay.