These Walls

As I was closing Mason's curtains the other night after laying him in his crib, I noticed the holes in his wall where his brother's names had previously hung. First Miles, then Max, and now Mason.

Seeing those holes made me realize how much I love our house. No, we don't have a playroom; no, we live VERY far from everything, no, the area surrounding our neighborhood isn't a good place to be. But our house--it is not just where we eat, sleep, play. It is where we live. It is the first house and only house Miles and I have ever owned; these are the walls we have painted ourselves (yes, almost every single wall by our own bare hands). It is the place we have landscaped, and loved, and labored over. Inside these walls we learned our family would grow; and grow; and grow again. These walls are the walls that have been dented by excited dogs chasing each other; these walls have seen our new babies come home, and then grow up. These walls have seen tears; heard laughter; listened to brothers sharing secrets late into the night. This house, this place, is a home. It is OUR home. After 5 1/2 years... if these walls could talk!!! And while we are anxious to move on....excited about where God will have us live next....anticipating moving closer to our kid's school and shortening our commute, we are content. We love our home, and when the day does come that God provides a new place for us to live and we lock up for the last time, I know these walls will see a few more tears. I am thankful for the holes in these walls. Those holes tell a story. And that story is the story of our family.