Lately I've been pondering what makes a house feel like a home.
Both as an artist - and as a home.maker - I am very connected to my surroundings as being a 'reflection' of me/my family. Which is why, (as you would have seen in our recent home tour), our place is brimming with clutter creativity!
So, one would think we would feel at home here.
But, we don't.
Ben and I still can't shake it off.
After almost three years living in this house... it still doesn't fit right.
Like forcing ourselves in to a shirt with too much starch, and a size too small.
It's not because we don't love our house-mates - we do!
It's not that we don't love our friends nearby - we do!
The space, the place... just doesn't feel right to us.
We're still trying to put a finger on why.
Because it's near a busy intersection ...and we long for quiet?
Too much concrete... when we want the woods?
City dwellers... who want to be more rural?
Yeah, that could be it.
These four walls we put ourselves in can mean a lot to us, eh?
While I know that home is really wherever I am with my family... (even a wet cardboard box would be a 5-star hotel as long as I have them)... it still weighs on my heart, this notion of home.
Looking back over the places I've lived (since moving away from my childhood home) I can trace the highs/lows of living arrangements. Some apartments we rented were fantastic, and I felt that this was my special haven. Other places felt foreign, no matter how long I may have lived there... it seemed like I was just visiting, not truly living there.
Am I making any sense?
That a place can either fit you, or not.
That an environment can embrace you, or repel.
Am I making any sense?
That a place can either fit you, or not.
That an environment can embrace you, or repel.
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But then, maybe this whole longing points to something even deeper.
Maybe I can't shake this restless quest for belonging... because I keep looking around me, when I should be looking up.
The God who flung stars into space,
has stretched eternity into my heart.
Is it any wonder that the things of this world just can't satisfy.
Is it any wonder that the things of this world just can't satisfy.
"This world has nothing for me, and this world has everything..."
What feels like home for your heart?
home.sick mama,
Mel ;o)
