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A house is a physical structure, a home is where the heart resides and is not defined by the walls that surround it.

When I think of my few years on earth as a living, breathing person and think of the various places I have lived and the people I have lived with, I am blessed if I can say, "Yes, I've had a home."

Why would I say that I am blessed having had a home during my life time? It is because for me a home is a place of love, a sanctuary that gives me relief and comfort and time out from the craziness of everyday life. I am not saying that such a place is not without challenges. I am saying that it is a place where I feel at ease and able to express and be who I really am.

As a child, born into a military family, I've lived in a number of houses. Have they been homes? Indeed they have; somewhat chaotic at times given there were in total ten of us, but they were homes. What made my childhood houses homes was the feelings they evoked, the memories that live on in my mind and heart, and the people who lived there with me. I was surrounded by love; not always understood, but eventually I knew that I was heard and that what I said and did mattered to the people, to my family. In my later years when I got married, it was my heart's desire to create an atmosphere of safety, peace and comfort for my family. I loved the smell of fresh baking that permeated the house and that welcomed my daughters home at the end of a school day. I loved it that my children loved coming home and were excited to share their days with me and wanted to bring their friends home. There was a warmth and love that permeated the house that made it a home. The structure was put together with love, from the wallpaper to the flooring, much care and thought was put into the physical environment. It was as though the wallpaper that caressed the walls had been glued their with the paste of love, and each stroke of the paintbrush,smoothed on the essence of love that remained long after the paint dried. We had our squabbles, our battles of will and we slammed doors and had heated discussions, but always, at the end of the day, we slept together in that place called home, in a peaceful slumber, awakening to a new day open to endless possibilities.

My observations of other peoples' homes were not always the same. They were often times just physical structures called houses. The children who who would visit at my home with my children did so because they felt "at home," and knew they were always welcome.

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