Courtney, Caleb and I went on a road trip last week to visit these
two precious people…
My wonderful parents Bill and Felicia and equally wondrous grandparents known as
Grand Felicia and Grandpa Bill. We were having dinner at Basillio’s,
a scrumptious restaurant on Main Street in Pullman.
I had the Chicken and Spinach Salad with Huckleberry
Dressing…yes, it was that good so there are no pictures to prove the goodness
or the surprise of a little bacon hidden among the healthiness of spinach…genius.
I also had some sweet potato fries because it was vacation and there are no rules.
Salad plus fries equals a great balance between good for you and not so good.
Yes, I went home.
Okay, that isn’t my home.
Can you imagine?
Oh, and this isn’t my home either.
Courtney and I saw so many such structures over the course of the
miles, that we wondered aloud
Why not just knock down these structures that seems to defy gravity?
But then I thought of so many people who have endured storm after storm,
hardship followed by seemingly too much,
and I wonder if they feel a bit like
A bit sloped and battered.
Beams of light shooting through worn timber from
exposure to life.
How do they remain standing?
I believe I know.
Over the course of the last month, I have been in both of my
Homes that are packed with memories and a lot of
My grandmother’s home is empty now.
My grandparent’s house is still full of a lot of things of life.
But after being in both, it became clear that these two houses
are now just houses.
They house things but not the beloved people that birthed
life into walls and kitchen tables and wing back chairs.
Simply structures but not homes in the truest and fullest sense.
I have never lived in the house where my parents live now.
Yet it is every bit home to me.
It is home because it is where they live.
The way we laugh at the dinner table.
The ease of putting ones feet up on a coffee table 🙂
The fact that I sleep so soundly under quilts of love.
Home is a place to be reminded of who you are.
The front door of home hugs you before its even opened.
It is where you are filled with fuel for the paths ahead.
A place to be embraced for the girl you were
and the one you have become, worn timber and all.
Portland is my home now.
I brought home a bit of stuff from homes of the past
I am so thankful that I can always find home in
Rolling hills that nourish and provide our
I came home full.
Stuffed in fact.