Home

The other day, all day, I did the little things that others may or may not notice. I swept my small patio, tended my garden and watered my plants. I came inside cleaned the kitchen, arranged the food in the refrigerator, I set the table and filled a bowl with marigolds. It is a shallow bowl which belonged to my mother, I love it the best, for it made my mother’s home a pleasant place, where many weary bodies had once found their rest.

The hours sped on, my eagerness to to beautify my home was not satisfied; my hands began to hurt, my feet felt a bit heavy, so much to do, so little time! I was determined to not let weariness get in the way of the task at hand. And so I spent the entire day…

With the onset of sundown, the garden outside was blotted from my sight, the room became quiet, I set candles in a row, right next to mother’s bowl, they glowed enchanted with the marigold blooms..I grew still slowly, paying attention to my tired body; I looked around, a job well done, and the grand descended on me, the reality, of how fortunate I am to call a place a “home”!

I realized in that moment, that the true nature of my home was-within its’ structure peace abides, the size or the value of my home are immaterial musings, it is my shelter from all terror, doubt and division. It is a place afforded me from providence where I have the control to not allow the anxieties of the outer world come in as a guest;I realized my tiny home is my sacred space, a vestal temple of sorts. It is a hallowed institution where characters were built, where sacrifices were made, each person learned how to contribute to the well being, happiness and care of each other.

I could no more measure my home by inches, by square footage, or weigh it in ounces or tons, it is a liited space alloted to me, measured by the love which resides within it, its’ glory expanded in hospitality, its’ blessings expanded only by contentment and gratitude.