The House That Built Me

When we moved back to PA, from Raleigh, not only were we leaving family and dear friends we made there, we were leaving my house. You know what I am talking about, especially if you are a mom. I remember the first day we walked into that house; I stood at the kitchen sink, looking past the breakfast bar into the family room and said, “This is my house”. I knew it in my heart. All of my holiday dinners would be at the long, wide dining room table we would purchase that would extend into the living room, if needed. I knew we would have a nursery right at the top of the steps when we brought our first baby home. I could see us having coffee, watching the school bus go by on the wrap around front porch years later.

So when Jarrod brought me to our house in PA that he had purchased while Delaney and I were back in Raleigh, I stood in the closed-in kitchen of the 1950’s home, surrounded by dark wood paneling and cried.  Jarrod assured me we were going to make this house our new home and over time I would grow to love this house too. And then this little house started to build me.

Little by little we made improvements. Uncle Tim came and helped replace the front door, tear down all that dark paneling, put in new vanities and toilets, trying to bring new life into this old house. I grew to appreciate the process of waiting.  Waiting for the crisp paint to go up, waiting for the new appliances.  And I am not going to lie – during that process, I was mad at myself. Yes, I was grateful to have a home we could call our own, and I know how hard buying the house in PA was for Jarrod. We had agreed to downsize and given my location constraints (more on that another time) he had a limited number of homes to choose from.  He also had a hard act to follow.  I was mad we could not pick up “my home” and just relocate it.  I was mad I had to live in an old home, and I was even madder that I felt entitled.

Last fall we embarked on a full kitchen re-model, picking out everything from the floors, counters, to the paint on the walls, and I LOVE my kitchen. Possibly even more than my kitchen in my Raleigh home.  Each day we were able to see our dream come alive. Jarrod poured his heart into that design.  Not a morning goes by that I don’t thank the Lord, that we were able to create the kitchen of our dreams.

Now, a year later, we have started the second Reno – full guts of both baths and an extension on the master with a walk in closet. Just like last year, Jarrod obsessed over every last detail, one of his blessings, a passion to ensure everything is just right. The excitement in the house this past weekend as we were clearing out rooms in preparation for the official start was overwhelming.  Even the girls could not wait to show their friend our empty bedroom and walk her through the plans to come.

And of all this made me sit back and reflect. It is amazing what time can do, if you allow it.  I admit, I still love my house in Raleigh and when we visit, I usually stop the car and show the girls what rooms were where and talk about the work Uncle Tim did to the nursery before bringing Delaney home from the hospital. I say I am going to knock on the door and ask if I can walk through, but never actually do. But there has been one amazing thing that has happened to me since leaving that house in Raleigh. I grew a very large sense of abundance and gratitude for many of the things I took for granted.  Not a day goes by that I don’t thank the Lord for leading us back to PA, for teaching me patience, and for the sheer appreciation of the little house that built me in my 40’s.