Monday, February 25, 2013


My home: four walls of an ugly and old-fashioned farmhouse. A group of buildings in need of paint and repairs. A scraggly grove of trees that has suffered from the drought and a lawn invaded by thistles.
My home: Within these four walls I have known childbirth and child-death, sickness, worry, and hardship. Disappointment and frustration make bodily weariness doubly hard to bear.

My home: It is all of these, but oh! so much more. It is a shelter from the elements, from the heat of summer and the snow and cold of winter. It is a refuge from the unkind world. It is a sure haven in this time of chaos.
My home: Though I rebel because I am a prisoner here, I would not be free for anything in the world. Though sometimes the drudgery and monotony are hard to bear, I would not leave them if I could. Here I am necessary to three whom I love. Here I know I am loved and needed. Here I can be utterly myself, free from pretensions and subterfuges.

My home: It is sweet to hear my children laugh and play. There is still the romance in waiting for Daddy to come in from the field. There is deep content in having someone to quarrel with, to love, to take care of, to scold, and to forgive. There is still joy in a freshly-scrubbed floor, the smell of a freshly-baked apple pie, the crackle of the fire in the funny old heating stove.

It is the best place on earth to me--my home.