A Place We Call Home

We are well past the holiday season, but I stumbled across these photos the other day and was quickly swept back to December and the sounds of holiday cheer. I was tossed into a home steeping in the scent of vanilla and cinnamon and the subtle jingle of silver bells that could be heard here and there as we strolled through our every day routines. It seems like this past holiday season was over before it even began. It was certainly a different year for us, but we tried our best to embrace it. I tried my best, as a mother, to make our holiday home joyful. Christmas music played daily, we read our holiday books nightly, and I baked everything and anything that I could to accommodate our new lifestyle. But most importantly, I tried my best to remember the true meaning of Christmas and the season, and out of all the years, I think I came the closest to understanding it this year.

This year I discovered that Christmas is about a place we call home.

Home can have a different meaning to each individual, and the thought of home can change with each year. Home could be faith, the Church, friends, new love, family. For me, at least this year, home became the roots that I planted right here under this roof where I am typing. Home became the strong branches that grew upwards and outwards, reaching to new open skies and bending down to lend a helping hand. Home became the fragile leaves that swayed with the slightest wind but brought color, strength and meaning wherever they fell.

Home is my family.

This holiday season taught me that no matter what ups and downs we encounter, our roots our grounded deep into the earth which allows us to stand strong. We may sway and softly blow in the wind, we may find ourselves fragile and broken, but we are anchored to something and that something is family.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."
Ernest Hemingway