Making a House a Home.... Imperfect Prose.

Making a house a home...

Isn't about perfect decor,
fixtures and fittings
cut and pasted from glossy pages....

It is about treasuring memories.

And turning them toward the light...


A house becomes a home slowly...
with the same kind of love,
that the old skin horse told the velveteen rabbit, turns toys real.
But only If they are truly loved till,
they become worn in ,
a little frayed around the edges...


A homely kitchen is not always gourmet...
But it is always good,
wholesome,
nourishing to both stomach and heart.
Even with the simplest of fare.


It fills a child with an aroma of memories...

And offers food for every sense....


Some days a posy of wild flowers will do,
other days (though maybe not so regular) roses from the one you love.
Sometimes an egg cup of daisies is the perfect thing.
Or maybe fresh cut flowers from a neighbour will grace the jar that cheers the kitchen sill.



Homemade and happy sitting on a shelf.
Reminds a house it is a home too...
It has a heart.

A lived in, loved through,
brimming full of colour and sound!
Making, baking, singing, and learning.
Reading and dreaming...


.... atmosphere...
Brings a home out of a house.

Putting your own unique mark on the furniture can help too :)
Poems written in golden thread and memory.

Light captured in the corners, beauty savoured in the ordinary, sacredness noticed in the everyday.

The learning how to see your own family story...
Weaving fragile and precious, through the days...

And a garden that doesn't have to be landscaped to be a little Eden...


Childhood lingers in both the fragrance of a rose and the clown wonder of a smiling sunflower.


Ragged overgrown gardens attract all kinds of wonderful wildlife anyway :)

And something for lunch maybe.

Old books passed down never put down long enough to gather dust!


And music...always music!
Even if it's "twinkle star" on repeat,
with fairy lights and dollies under covers.

Always creating, becoming, emerging till....
Our house takes on the creation of home and blessing for both those dear and the stranger too.

Not outer adorning, but inner knowing.

Antique collecting?

And the endless making of cosy corners to hide in....

Even the mess. Yes!

That never ending, silver sparkly wonder that four girls seem to unintentionally grow and scatter happy.

till somehow all my surfaces have a little glitter on them :)

Right to the darkest, quietest corners. Where in prayer, and stillness where we find ourselves,

each other...
and Him.

Within this place we call home.

Home isn't about the stuff that's in it. It's not about the sq footage, the location or the furniture.
It is about making a space that welcomes, that is honest, that reflects the heart of those who dwell within it's walls.
A home can't be cut out of a magazine. It is grown, like a garden from the rich soil of love....

My life is made up of imperfect prose and my home though imperfect is the centre of the story we share.

Hardly any of our furniture or appliances is new, and at any one time there will be something broken you can guarantee it :) Right now it's the fridge, swilling in its own meltdown :) And smelling slightly of rancid butter!

But what I'm trying to say is, it doesn't matter where you home is or how big it is. It can be beautiful. It can be a place of joy, and welcoming and togetherness and Love.

Enjoy reading more Imperfect Prose over at Emily's place friends :)