When I’m driving I often look at homes.  Pondering what it might be like to live in that space. Who lives there?  A family. A happy family.  One with laughter that runs up and down the stairs, soaring out the windows, touching the rain.  Almost as if that laughter is solid. A little plant to pluck and carry in the car with you. A slice of air that seeps under the soles of your shoes, scooping up your legs in a little dance.  That’s gold to me. Diamonds and gold.  

Happy families do something to my soul.   When I was little they used to confuse me.  I didn’t understand how something so complicated, hardened, scary, could be so complete, easy, full.  Then I realized that that’s purity. It’s love. It’s innocence and joy and sorrow and hope all lumped together in one bubbly mess that no one understands.  

There are so many different types of houses.  Families that are big and loud, quiet and reserved.  But only one type of home. A restful, secret, yet welcoming space. 

This was a new idea to me when I went to Ghana. A place I lived in for four months became a space I always felt welcome, whole, loved.  Easy. Easy life. I don’t really believe in an easy life but I do believe in an uncomplicated one. One that holds truth so very still at its center.  One that speaks about love and goodness, that allows tears to fall, voices to speak, to not speak. A secret place of non judgment. A kingdom. A crown.  Sparkly shoes. A place that makes you feel like a princess yet lets you act like a mess.