It’s here, right here. Where it’s always been. Before it was even a whisper in a builders heart. There was a purpose just as there is to everything in life. In his labored hands he knew not the truth but was impelled to bring purpose upon the land for the future in which it resides. The most amazing stories and life and love and loss. Not a big house but a humble one that carried the cries of newborn eyes and its walls were arms that held them tight. The house was a holding place for testing out trials and receiving joy. It’s every knock on the door, every picture hanging from the walls and the footsteps still left by memories stored within. How can a house hold so much for so long and not spill over and out onto the land. The voice of a loving mother sprinkled like freshly fallen snow. It captures the tender breath of children who’s lives lay out before them untold. It stretches far and wide and it crosses years and lives of old. What is held within a home is the heart that is beating for another success in life. Just one more child to grow and one more story to be told. Herein lies the truth about life and death and growing old. Within the veins of this humble holding, lies the beautiful unfolding of everything, everything! Even that to which is still unknown. A house can capture a heart and you can even hear it singing from the walls. Gently, ever so gently, like the breath of a child that lays sleeping and dreaming about tomorrow. Within this house there is always tomorrow. Whatever pain that left a trace of fear are calmed by the love that was shared and courage that was made to continue on an on. Life is not a journey to an end for there is so much more. So much more to learn and grow and inspire and even to leap with excitement over the tiniest accomplishments written on the doors. How beautiful a place that lets a journey live on in other lives and other homes. Those homes that grow and live and cry, they cry out with endless tears of endearment. It never ends. They think it does but it was purposed to never end. Life passes from one heart to another and from one tear that shed to remember and to never forget from where it came. I tiny house can hold a mountain within if it is given the chance to thrive. There are echos here of scribbled papers and golden stars that given for a job well done. This house still stands because it is cherished and it was labored in love and hope for the future. It’s tiny little windows kept out the cold and held the promise of another day and another and another. From one wish that stretches a lifetime and stills grows and still sings its joyful tune. You can’t reside within this home and not know that. You can’t grow-up without ever knowing how much you were loved and cherished and treasured. A house is a home for just moments in the steam of time but the memories all connect from one generation to another and from one tiny house to the prospects for success. Take just one step and you have turned a page in this story that spreads out a carpet that leads to promises kept and rewarded and honored. A house is not just a house but family interchanged and so tightly connected.One should let go and yet still hold on reaching and growing with every step and motion. It’s the child-like cry of a wounded knee and the captured comfort from loving care that keeps this story going on with out end. The people do not own this house it is owned by love and commitment and perseverance, hard work and prayer. This joy within, is where the plates were once sitting upon those frilly little placements that used to hold so much emotion. It could tell its own stories. Its just the steps taken everyday, on and on and on without let-up or disappointment or getting lost in confusion or pain. A house can only hold what you give it, weather tender care or fear. It can be angry and scary but it can be beautiful and enduring as well. We make our homes to live in but our homes carry us through our lives, always connecting hearts to hearts and spirits to the wind with careful course and a purpose What our hearts cannot contain is held in the cupboards and the drawers and anywhere really, that memories can be stored. They are just there waiting to be discovered by another family and
another life and another journey. One can leave home and never forget were they grew up and the trials and tribulations of that day. I do know that here within my house, our house, our home, there will always live generations beyond these doors and much love more and more.