Home Is Where The Heart Is

I've fallen in love with a building. Yes, it seems silly as I read the words written out, but it's true nonetheless. It's amazing how a structure, a mess of wood, cement, glass, and wires, can hold such a prominent place in my heart. I suppose it's not so much the building as it is the people, my family, who are inside it and the memories that were birthed there.

I first met this love of mine when I was about two years old. I honestly can't remember the first time my family crossed the now familiar threshold. I have other people's memories to call on when I want to know what it was like then. As I get older, my own memories start taking over. Blissful hours of childhood spent running in the yard. Smiling friends planning and plotting and forming not-so-secret clubs. Eating delicious meals and then sneaking off with an extra brownie before a game of soccer outside. How many rowdy meals have I eaten here? The kind of gatherings that just about bend the walls to bursting with so many people crowded in, laughing and enjoying each other. Too many to count and more to come.

I suppose it really is the people that give life to any building. The people who walk beneath my roof are so dear to me that I'm at a loss for words to describe my affection. I guess family does that to you. I wonder if I could ever remember each and every time I laughed under this roof. And every time someone else's laugh met mine.

I'll be the first to tell you that it's not a perfect place. The kitchen gets on my nerves, an extra bathroom would be a huge boon, and maybe a little more space would be helpful, but I put up with it because it does what it needs to do- it brings the people I love together. I can put up with a lot because of that.

Over the years, I've poured myself into this building, as any good homemaker should do. I've cleaned, decorated, and arranged the furniture. I've painted the walls. I even painted a tree on one wall. I've framed my photos and hung them up. I've killed spiders, washed dishes, taken out the trash. I know where the light switches are and can flip them on in the pitch dark.

My heart lives here in this old building. My children see this love and echo it. How many generations will continue that love?

Today is Saturday. I've only seen my building twice so far this week. I'll head over there tonight for another family meal. And tomorrow, when my building is full of voices and bodies moving about, I'll be grateful that these walls can hold us all. And when we lift our voices as one, in worship of our one Father, I'll be joyful that this little building was chosen to help us do just that. And when the Spirit descends on my old building, I'll thank God once again for gathering us here, in my beloved church.