I fell in love with our house the moment we first looked at it. In my mind, I could see where the couch would go, where we'd put our dining room table, and what rooms ours kids would occupy one day. It was more than a house on that first visit, it was already a home.
I've slowly settled into married life in our home. Sure, there are a ton of things I'll probably change over time. And sure, most of our furniture has been handed down or bought at a yard sale. I like the charm that old pieces create...pieces that have a story are dear to my heart.
When I look at these photos, I see the stains on the stove that don't seem to ever disappear, no matter how hard I scrub.
And yes, I still have Christmas cards up--they'll stay up year round in my house, just because I love seeing the faces of those I love most.
I see the stack of books, papers, cards, and bills that sit in the basket on our counter. Clutter. But really, that's just evidence of a house lived in.
I see the couches that were handed down to us and are, ahem, quite loved, but comfortable and worn in.
I can look around our house and pick out so many things that I want to change, but really, when I look at our house, I see a home. I see somewhere that is lived in and not perfect, comfortable and welcoming.
I've been reading The Nesting Place by Myquillin Smith, and more than anything, it's teaching me that a home doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful, because in all reality, the beauty comes from the quirks and "faults" that we see.
I want our guests to come in and feel at home. To be comfortable to sit down on our couch and kick up their feet. To feel cozy and at ease. It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful.