When Our House Became a Home


We have made our life in the town I was raised in, in the home I was raised in, and I never saw it coming.

Like most of my peers, I wanted to graduate high school and move as far away from our hometown as possible. I wanted to leave and never look back to that terrible place where your parents provide everything for you. And I did, I moved four hours away to finish my undergraduate degree and I even journeyed to Hong Kong and China for three weeks. I was a fashion major and had dreams of moving to New York or California after graduation {says every fashion major}. I had no plans on how to make this a reality and I was becoming increasingly obsessed with my boyfriend and dreaming about our future. He didn’t want me to move across the country and I wasn’t paying for my apartment so I told him I was moving back home to figure things out. Without hesitation he decided he was moving too, our obsession was mutual. We found a teeny tiny studio apartment in the city located near an airport. We would visit my parents on the weekend and Ryan loved to be out there. He grew up in the city and preferred the slow, spacious, quiet life instead {I never saw that coming}. Time went on and my parents decided to purchase a new home in town, their own dreams were coming true. They offered the house to us to purchase but we decided to rent instead, that was the less permanent option. I was thrilled that we were no longer living in a 525 sq. ft. apartment but I couldn’t see myself living there for a long time. Occasionally Ryan would mention the idea of purchasing the house and making it our home to which I replied, “I refuse to die in the house I grew up in”. In my practical head I was already making plans to purchase the 400k custom dream home beautifully located off a winding, woodsy road. I was still working at the time so I thought this option was completely obtainable {it really never was, but you can’t tell my determination that}. And then something happened, my heart started to change toward the house. God started to speak to me about his provision, contentment, and this dream of raising our children at home.

I was in the car with a friend on our way to an orphanage when the subject of the house came up. She listened and spoke encouragement over me. Through her words I gained revelation and everything just clicked in my head, it was the confirmation I didn’t know I needed. It was then that I decided we would make the decision to purchase the house and make it our own. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell my husband my news and when I did he plainly said, “that’s what I’ve been saying this whole time”. Note to stubborn self: listen to your husband the first time, he knows.

My encouraging friend taught me how to texture our living room walls, to help me create a space that reflected my personal aesthetic. Within a few months I had our living and dining room walls textured and painted, our interior doors replaced, and converted built in china cabinets to book shelves. I started to embrace everything we had been given from our parents and utilized it to make our home beautiful. Loving our home was something I had to go through to learn what needed to be changed in me. In the process I learned contentment and found freedom from the tiresome pursuit of “better”.

I have the privilege of training up my children in the same house I was raised in. All my childhood memories are here and my children will share their childhood memories under the same roof. When I think of that thought I hear “generations” and “legacy”. I can’t imagine living anywhere but here and now I have the honor of saying that I live in the house I grew up in.








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