My house is more than wood, nails, windows, shingles and stairs. My house is where every “first” for me has ever taken place, every memory and every moment that has made me, me. My name is Star, I am the youngest of six children and this house is where I was born. I have never had another address besides this one.
My house is neither big, fancy or new, in actuality, it is slightly run down with chipped paint, missing stairs, a few cracked windows and more than a few stray cats living outside. Though there has never been enough room for all the people and children that have been raised here, I honestly wonder if anyone has ever noticed. There is so much more to see, feel and experience here besides room.
My house has been passed down through four generations. My family is from France and this is where my grandparents first moved when they came to America. Every tree, every flower and every plant here was planted by my great grandfather and my great grandmother hands. The lavender trees, the lily of the valley and the iris’ were more than just landscaping for them; this was the only part of France they could feasibly bring with them. When I step inside my home and I see the vases of fresh flowers from the garden, the representation is almost overwhelming. The flowers represent my family coming to America to make a life for themselves, and future generations away from the hardship and death of the war between France and Germany.
My house is more than a shelter. It is filled with the memories of the children that have come and gone from here, the great grandparents and grandparents that have long since passed, memories that can never be moved and a sense of belonging that can never be taken away. This house is made up of four generations of character, integrity, grace, mercy, forgiveness, laughter and tears. This is my families’ home, this is my home, my sanctuary and this is where my heart and spirit will always belong.