Sunday, October 15, 2006
This is a replica of the Little House on the Praire home my Dad built. My mom has it in their living room.
It is a gloomy day here today. The sky is gray and there is a steady drizzle, sometimes turning to real rain. It is dark enough inside the house to need the lights on if one wants to read. It is quiet, cozy, snug. I love this kind of day every now and then. I am basically a sunny day, blue sky sort of person. Too many rainy days in a row tend to get me down. But every once in a while it is nice to just feel wrapped in the warmth and coziness of home – like being wrapped in your favorite afghan.
I remember when I first read the Little House books. I didn’t discover them until I was grown and had two little boys of my own. I read them over and over again. It was the sense of home that drew me in. In spite of the hard times and tragedies they faced, there was always the comfort of home and family. Gathered together in the safety of a little cabin, the smell of baking bread, the warmth of a fire, the sound of Pa playing the fiddle and the soft click of knitting needles as Ma rocked and knitted in the rocking chair Pa had made.
Not too long ago I heard someone talking about having a dream and pursuing it. I thought back to my childhood and tried to remember what it was I dreamed of doing. Surely there was a grand idea of what I wanted to be some day. The person talking said it is never too late to pursue your dream. He reeled off example after example of people who even in their old age finally realized the fulfillment of their dream. “Come on Linda” I thought, “surely you had a great ambition. What was it?” I felt foolish trying to come up with something that surely everyone else had already discovered. If I could do whatever I wanted to do – what would it be?
Then I realized that I had indeed been living my dream. All I ever really wanted was to be a wife and mother and have a home that was filled with warmth and love. Oh I planned a big career because of course that was what was expected of us women of the sixties. I never got very far. Marriage and home seemed much more attractive to me. So while my contemporaries were busy liberating themselves, I was making a home and raising three precious children. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
I am so blessed and so content. On this dreary day I’ll sit on the couch reading while my husband watches football. I’ll talk to my children on the phone. I’ll visit a bit with my parents in their little apartment attached to our home. And I’ll thank the Lord for allowing me to live my dream. He is what makes it all work. He is the warmth and the love and the contentment. He is what holds us together.