A house, but not a home
What makes a house feel like home?
When my siblings and I arrived at my grandparents’ small, drafty house, it provided shelter but very little else. My grandfather—hunched over a worn spiral notebook—juggled a tiny disability check and food stamps, while my grandmother stretched every scrap of ingredients into dinners that tasted like miracles. Some nights we ate plain white bread soaked in thin gravy, and we called it a feast simply because it filled us.
My grandfather found solace gathering wild herbs to sell, a quiet work that let him escape the chaos of suddenly raising five boys he hadn’t planned for. Yet beneath his sturdy frame lay years of unspoken trauma—abuse that had shaped his discipline and the way he saw the world. Tension crackled at home: arguments with my older brother would erupt, sometimes ending with doors slammed shut, sometimes with fists. I remember one night he pressed a broomstick against my brother’s throat in a desperate mix of rage and fear. Even then, my brother wouldn’t cry out. It wouldn’t have mattered if he did.
And yet, in the midst of that struggle, there were sparks of joy. Mamaw taught us that love doesn’t always come from comfort, but from creativity and perseverance. She turned canned biscuits into powdered-sugar doughnuts and cornbread into a “poor‑man’s dessert” that tasted like heaven. I still recall the memory of us, barefoot in the yard, plucking chickens together—an unpleasant task that ended in warmth around the dinner table.
As I grew older, I felt the sting of shame—hand‑me‑downs that never quite fit, classmates lacing up new shoes while mine wore thin. But with each pang of embarrassment, I also learned resilience. My grandmother didn’t know about savings accounts or financial planning, but she modeled endurance, faithfulness, and unconditional love.
Looking back now, I see that our true refuge wasn’t those creaking floorboards or patched‑up walls. It was a promise whispered in Scripture: “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” Jesus Christ became our true shelter, turning a house into a home where brokenness could meet healing. His grace reminded me that no matter how heavy our burdens, He carries us through the darkest nights and makes our spirits soar.
Today, I share this story not to dwell on the pain of the past, but to celebrate the hope we found in Him. If you’re carrying weariness in your heart, remember: Christ’s love is the greatest home we could ever know—one that endures forever.
In Jesus’ name,