My Southern Comfort Zone

 "...'a perfect house, whether you liked food or sleep or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all.' Merely to be there was a a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness."

-J.R.R Tolkien, on Rivendell from The Fellowship of the Ring

 

 

 

  

 

My parents' house is nestled under the pale Smoky Mountains in a tiny little town that only has one red light.

The house isn't what most would call grand or ornate. It's just a simple ranch-style brick house on a hill. 

But to me, it's where a big piece of my heart calls home.

 

 

 

 

  

 

The six daughters and two sons come tumbling in with spouses and babies in tow and somehow there's always room.

 Room for the dogs, and luggage. 

Room for growing and learning and new memories being made.  

Room to love.

  

 It's where you'll find puppy paws on the living room rug and steamy mugs of coffee on the table.

Where laughing loudly and dancing silly in the kitchen are perfectly acceptable.

Where the laundry is never really caught up. 

 Where puppies and cats and little chirping birds are all welcome.

Where you wake up with messy hair and pajamas to sit sleepy while Dad reads Scripture aloud to the family.

 Where we eat Mom's homemade bread almost everyday.

Where life lessons are woven into everything, from dealing with frustrating siblings to 'please come back and do this chore thoroughly like you should have the first time'.

 

 

 

It's not perfect. 

No home truly is. 

I wouldn't trade my years growing up there though. It's where I learned first of God's love and plan for my life. Where I was blessed with stability, simple beauty and unconditional love.

 My parents strove to give us all that. To them, it was of most importance to create a safe place for all of us. A place where loving God was first and others second.
A place where, no matter how far our lives took us away, we could always walk in the door and say, 
"I'm home."