small soft green home with a small door that is a peachy organ and a circle window that is also the smae color. The house has white trim and green landscape.
poem, poetry, poetry in the marking, Process of Life

We Are Not Sticks & Stones

We are not sticks and stones

For as long as I can remember, I wanted a forever home. A place that was mine to be safe and raise a family. I would fill it with love, warmth, and comfort. It would be a simple place that I would make into a beautiful home, familiar, fresh like a breath of air on a crisp Sunday morning but still cozy like Christmas Day. I would make this place secure and safe to be yourself, full of grace and forgiveness. A place we could be silly, have fun, grow and flow into the people God meant for us to be. It would be a place of both fast and slow, laughter and love, hard and soft and a place we all could depend on,but above all else it would be about trust.

But this place is just sticks and stones. It houses people. This house doesn’t change; the people inside it do. The people grow and change; they have needs and wants. But these sticks, stones, nails, and bricks stay the same. The house sees the changes that happen within.

We are not the sticks and stones that hold the framework in place. We are not the mantle over the fireplace or doorways; my children are more than the hallways and bedrooms, and I am more than the kitchen and this armchair I sit in writing this. My love is more than his desk and those french office doors. All the rooms that make up this house get a front-row seat in watching us grow, and age, fail, break, and rebuild and love, but we are more than sticks and stones. We are flesh and bone, souls and beautiful minds. We are the heartbeat.

We are not the house. We are the creeks or rivers. We are not the studs or foundation these broads rest on. We are not the stick or the stones but so much more. We breathe life. These rooms sit silent, empty, and still without us. We are the force that makes brings them to life.

We are not sticks and stones. We are the life force, ever-changing, exploring, and creating. We are loud and quite and our prints leave a lasting mark. We feel pain and love. We explore and learn. We expand and observe. We live life wherever we are, the energy within us spreading like wildfire and beating like a drum. A heartbeat that is unique to this family.

We are the blood, the sweat, the tears, and the heart. The house is the vessel we are so grateful for. But I must never forget… that we are not the stick and stones; we are the life force, the essence, the heartbeat.



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