Home Is A Feeling

For me, home means a place where I can go after a long day and unload. Muffins fresh out of the oven, still gooey in the center. A comforting hug from Mom. Dad spinning me around until I can barely stand, I’m so dizzy. My little brother sprinting for my midriff, dragging my head down until he can kiss my cheek. My dog running to jump up and lick my face, saying in his own little way, “where have you been!?” Home means a place I can feel loved, warm, safe, and happy. I love looking at the pictures on the walls and in the albums, precious memories carved into my mind. Watching my brother and I grow up, side by side, picture by picture. I love waking up to the delicious scent of bacon wafting into my room from the kitchen. Hearing my mom singing along to whatever tune she decided to play that morning. I love the soft, warm feeling of the bedsheets on my skin, the sunlight filtering brightly through my pretty curtains. I love the sleigh rides, snow angels, snowball fights, ice skating, and hot cocoa with a Christmas movie in the winter, and the horse back rides, picnics, beach days, and camping trips in the summer. I’m very grateful that I grew up in such a loving, pretty home, but I understand that some people don’t have that. I feel sorry for them. I know some of them. I’m very thankful that Habitat for Humanity is helping all those people, because a house is just a building that protects my body, and a home is a feeling that protects my heart, mind, and soul. That is what home means to me.