Home is probably my favorite four letter word.

For as long as I can remember, all I have ever really wanted was my own home.  Come to think of it, there is a certain way I look at the world – a way that requires a place for all your things.  A place of beauty and peace and tidiness.  A place that is warm and comfortable and clean and yours.  I think of handbags this way.  I actually think of my mind and soul in that way.  And I think of my home in this way.

The home where the loved ones are.  The home filled with soft light and comfy chairs.  The home filled with books and flowers.  Art.  Music.  A warm fire on a cold night.  A pot of something good on the stove.  A home with bookcases and weird trinkets picked up on travels and jaunts.

I’ve known so many people who have homes that aren’t homes.  They have boxes without comfort.  A place to come at the end of the day that is a house – a dwelling – but not a home.

My dearest wish is that at the end and I come down to die, that heaven will be (among other things) a place where I get to go and live in my dream home.  The house that I’ve build in my head all these years.  It will have windows and light, a garden and a lovely kitchen.  It will have a king size bead with the softest, warmest, most wonderful sheets, blankets and pillows.  It will have all the books.  And all the music.  It will have fireplaces and a vintage lamps.  It will have a glass sunroom where you can watch the summer sky, the winter snow, the spring storms and the autumn leaves fall all around you.  Where you can watch the fireflies drift over the hills at night.  Where the puppies can snooze.  Where the bar is always stocked.

It has occurred to me on more than one occasion that heaven is now.  That this good earth, with all its troubles, is still the most wondrous place.  I love it.  And at the end of it all, I can come home to this little piece of the world.

So many things can and do go wrong in this world.  Its easy to expect and anticipate the worst and scary to imagine the best.  But, as Frances Mayes wrote “what if the sky does not fall?  What if it’s glorious?”

I chose to believe that it would be glorious.  And when I’m home, it is.



One thought on “Home

  1. This is why I missed your blog so much. Tonya you can write. You can WRITE! My goodness. I also feel like you’re like my online big sister with wonderful words of wisdom. Home really is a heaven. I feel the same way. It really is glorious. Thank you!


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