A House or A Home

A few minutes ago i was sitting and watching my DVR finale of the tv show, The Voice. On it Miranda Lambert sang the song, The House that Built Me.You can watch the music video here. The song is about her going back to the house that she was raised in and how it was where she learned to do things, and where priceless memories were made. She hopes that by going back, she will be able to heal herself from whatever she is going through.

This reminded me of the house that i lived in until i was almost eleven. My older siblings had lived there much longer. My parents bought the land and built the house. The lived there for about 17 years. Three months before i turned eleven, we moved to Washington State. The picture above is the only one i have of the moment of that house. That is my, and my brothers standing under a palo verde tree, which has very prickly leaf things that hurt your feet, hence the reason that picture looks so painful for us all.

Anyway, whenever we talk about that house as a family, one of my brother always says that we are obsessed with that house. As i was listening to the above song, i thought about that. And it came to me that we aren't obsessed, the house represents more then a building that we lived in for many years, it represents the home that built us. The home that as we grew through our childhood years, and in the case of my siblings, their trying teenage years, it taught us lessons and gave us memories.

There were numerous Christmas and birthdays, holidays and even a wedding. There were tears, hugs, blessings and punishments given. There was imaginary play in the back play house, hide and seek in the orchard, swimming in the mental trough, learning to work hard by planting tree after tree after tree and not to mention the numerous dogs that claimed that backyard as home. There were the bunnies in the cages, the scorpions in the huge wood pile and the irrigation water that was always oh so fun to play in. ( that of course was before you cared what was in irrigation water )

All of that is not forgetting the neighbors all around us and the kids we played with down the street. The house is playing in the circle with our brand new Christmas bikes or roller blades. It was running across the burning hot assault to the neighbors grass to keep your feet from burning too badly, until you got to the house you wanted to get to. It was setting off the house alarm and the police coming when you were a kindergartner and didn't even know what a house alarm was.

I could go on and on. But the point is, its not just a house. Its not just a building that we lived in. It was a home. A home that our mother lovingly put together and our father taught us how to work hard. It was a home where we could go to feel safe and feel the spirit. Not all memories are good, but they have all taught me and all of us something.

Your home doesn't have to be one place, or one house that you lived in. In most cases every house you live in becomes your home. It becomes that place that you live and learn, the place that keeps building on to you. The reason why this home holds significant meaning to so many in my family, is because it was the home that built them. At least it helped build me. It helped me form myself into the person i am today. So we're not obsessed, we just love the memories.