Home beckons. The door is always open. No need for pretense, home is where you are known. Home is nicely worn in, easy and intimate. It bids you to tarry, pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable. Home is an open invitation, stay as long as you like as often as you like.
Home is a refuge, a trusted covering. Loyalty stands, resolute. Trust never sleeps. Vulnerabilities are protected and instabilities shored up. Home is where love casts out fear. Home is where another always seeks your best.
Home is where the din of the outside world is shut out. Peace lives here. There is no striving to make your voice heard. Even words unspoken are readily understood. Home is where the struggles cease and the battle is over. Lay aside you troubles, you are home.
Home is full and rich, a joyous melee of loved ones and laughter, music and motion. The blessing of a happy home will not be contained, nor should it be. For home is where life begins and hope triumphs. Home is the blessing that begets other blessings.
Home is where we learn to love. Here, love covers a multitude of sins. Home is loving and being loved, because of and in spite of, at our best and at our worst. This is love without border or condition. This is the foundation, the history, the heart.
To my husband,
Much time has passed since we first met, the intersection of our lives being the most singular gift of God’s Grace this side of Heaven I will ever know. From that gift, came countless others. I still believe I am the luckiest woman alive. I’ve tried to put into words what this means to me. Here is my best attempt:
For thirty-three years we have built our life together,
And I am at home with you.