This House: Part One

In the following few days, before we leave this home and begin a new adventure somewhere else, I want to share with you a series of three letters written about this house. Think of them as our love letters to this house, or at least, about it. The first was written somewhere in mid-2005, when we were having issues with the house and with life and it seemed like we spent so much time longing for something different, for things to be what they were not, that we forgot the blessing that was this home. And then one day, something changed, something in me and in us and well, the rest is history.

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Dear Kurt,

I love our house. It is just right. It is big, but not too big. It is beautiful, but not too beautiful. When the kids and I come home and walk through the door, it wraps its big, warm frame around us and holds us securely. It is just right.

It is cozy but not complete. It has room for more, yet is content with less. It is calm at times and brilliant (read chaotic) at others. It is just enough, maybe more. It is just right.

At first, I thought the yard was small. Then I watered it by hand. It is in fact a big yard. Today, we laid down in the grass and let the blades tickle our bodies. We watched the clouds roll overhead and heard mosquitoes buzz by our ears. We swatted at them and rolled over, getting up to run around the trees and through the bushes, like the wind which swirled our hair into a sticky mess. We tiptoed over the gravel and filled the birdbath with water. We hope for birds but will probably breed mosquitoes (like the apple we put out for the rabbits that only collected ants.) We watched the chipmunk dodging to and fro and the rabbits passing by. We sang songs with the robins and the sparrows that live in the hole in the side of our house and that little yellow bird I don't know the name of yet. The yard isn't small. It is busy and friendly. It is just right.

When we came back inside, we ran in circles on the hard wood floors which felt cool under our sticky, bare feet. We sat on the cushy, carpeted stairs and watched through the big windows how the wind ruffled the trees and the sky became gray and ominous. We watched how the storm made its way, slowly this time, toward our big, beautiful, warm, cozy, sometimes calm, sometimes brilliant (read chaotic) house. We were safe and it felt just right.

And when you walk through the front door after your day at work, whether it has been a stressful day for you or for us, or not, this house is ready and waiting to wrap you up in its big, warm frame and hold you securely, too. And we become more complete. And everything is just right.

We love you. And we love our house. And even when things don't go quite like we want them to, we still love you, and we still love our house. We hope you do, too.

Yours,
Karen, the kids
(and the house)