Coming Home

It was a full house this weekend.
It was an impromptu family time.
It was a time for my sons and daughters, son-in-love and daughter-in-love to be here.
It was wonderful.

Different things brought them home but the focal point was my youngest daughter’s birthday.
She turned 21 years old.
That age does not seem possible but the calendar does not lie.
Her birthday was a reason to be home and celebrate.

My son and his wife arrived first on Friday night.
The birthday girl came in the door about an hour later.
My son, who works in DC, came home the next day.
My oldest daughter came later that same day.

My daughter and her husband came home just in time for cake.
There we all were, in the kitchen, around the island, watching her blow out her candles.
The calendar is turning, the years are passing, but some things never change.
This is home.

No matter where they come from or what they are doing before they arrived, this is home.
They know where everything is in all the cabinets.
They know where the blankets are kept in the armoire so they can cuddle in front of the fire.
They know that whatever food is in the refrigerator or the cabinets, it is to be eaten.

There was quite a bit of bedroom shifting to accommodate everyone.
The birthday girl had her room.
My son and his wife had the larger room with the bathroom.
My older son had the room in which he grew up.

We drink a lot of milk as a family.
When everyone was home, we went through 13 gallons of milk in a week.
In those days, we could easily finish a gallon of milk at the dinner table.
My refrigerator testifies that nothing has changed.

We went through eggs and bread and cheese and milk.
I am used to cooking for a crowd at every meal.
As my husband says, You love it!
I do!

When you are used to cooking for a large family it is very difficult to cook small meals.
My husband and I have gotten used to having leftovers when it is just the two of us.
Needless to say, there were no leftovers this weekend.
I baked multiple things and they were all eaten as well.

My youngest daughter was thrilled to have everyone home.
I reminded her of how very special she is to all of us and how very much she is loved.
She knows that, but it’s nice to hear again and again.
Families never need a reason to get together; they take advantage of any occasion.

I smiled at the way everyone sits at their old seats at our large farm table.
Of course there is room for the new members of our family.
Even with more people at the table, my children still sat where they used to sit.
It is comforting to know you have a place.

It is comforting to know where everything is and that nothing has changed.
It is pleasant to laugh together, and pray together, and tell old stories together.
Everyone is an adult yet childhood memories are very close to the surface.
Those memories are our story; they are the glue that holds us together.

The spouses of my children have heard many of the stories.
However, now and again, a new one pops up to add to the collection.
No matter the job or location they are now in, they are Gallaghers.
That is something that can never be taken away from them.

As I was decorating for fall, I found the place cards.
I kept them tucked away in the drawer in the dining room hutch.
I always wanted to keep my young children busy on a holiday as I was preparing dinner.
I had then design their own place cards for the dining room table.

I had forgotten that I tucked them in the back of the drawer where the nicer napkins are kept.
There they were, with their childlike handwriting and artwork.
I remember each of these place cards resting against the glasses after the table was set.
They never wanted me to throw them away and used them well into their teen years.

For nostalgia, they said.
For the memories, they admitted.
For old times sake, they concluded.
It was more than that.

Home is home no matter where life takes you.
Every breath they ever breathed is somewhere in this house.
Every word ever spoken has nestled in the rafters.
Every belly laugh and every tear has been etched in the floorboards.

This is home.
This is where their story began.
This is where they they grew into the men and women they are now.
This is the place from which they were launched.

Home.
Home.
Even the word brings solace to the spirit.
Even the word awakens memories that were thought to be long forgotten.

When my youngest daughter went to college I could not believe the comments I received.
Are you going to downsize now that it is just you and your husband?
Downsize, why would I downsize? I answered many times.
Why, indeed?

There are more breaths to be breathed here.
There are more words to nestle into the rafters.
There are more belly laughs and tears that will be etched in these floorboards.
The story is continuing, as God determines.

As God allows, there will be grandchildren.
As God allows, there will be more marriages.
As God allows, this home will continue to be used for ministry.
As God allows, this home is His for as long as He chooses.

That’s the things about houses.
Houses become homes because of the people who live inside.
Houses become homes because stories are written there.
Homes remain a part of us because that is where our story began.

Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you.  I will come back and take you to be with Me that you also may be where I am.
(John 14:1-4)

Our homes here should point to our Home there.
There will be no need for bedroom shifting since each of us will have our own place.
We will have our own place, as God determines.
We will have our own place, that Jesus is preparing now.

And we we tell the Story.
The Story is familiar; it is part of who we are.
We have to tell others so that they will know our family Story, too.
God wrote the Story; the main character is His Son, Jesus.

When we trust in Jesus alone for our salvation, we become part of God’s family.
We have access to the Father.
A place, our place, is prepared just for us.
We will one day be Home.

Home.
Home.
Even the word brings solace to the spirit.
One day, we will be Home in Heaven and our Father will be there.