The house I’m living in now is the longest place my husband and I have lived together since we met in 2011. Isn’t that something?
Right when the dust starts to settle, we usually start thinking the grass might be greener somewhere else. And honestly, for us, it often has been.
We first moved away from home at 21 when he joined the Marine Corps. We moved again when his contract ended. Again when our first baby was born. Again when we traded our big, older home for a smaller new build. Again when we realized cold winters were no longer for us. Again when we traded the fast American life for a slower one in Puerto Rico.
Then again when home called us back after losing someone dear to us. And twice more while trying to find the place we’re in now.
We actually put this house on the market this past summer. I am so grateful to God that no one wanted it, because here I am, sitting on my bed, writing this out.
Three Christmases so far. We welcomed our second child into this home. And for the first time in years, I hung up family photos.
A few weeks ago, we had friends over and started talking about what makes a house feel homey. We all came to the same conclusion. Photos do. My friend shared that they don’t have any photos up because they’ve moved around so much too. We met them this past summer and quickly grew so fond of them. Not long after that conversation, we picked a date to take their holiday photos.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what they said. So I gifted them their first portrait. He hung it up so proudly in their living room. And just like that, their house felt a little more like home.
