Our family’s little farmhouse has seen so much life over the years. It’s not new, not freshly decorated, not spotless, but it is ours. When we bought it 18 years ago, it was in sore need of some major tender loving care. It had seen sorrow and in turn, had sat through neglect. We spent nine long months gutting it to the frame and just like birthing a baby, those months were spent birthing our dream. We turned this house into our home. It became a place of refuge for our family.
When we moved in, we brought four children with us. Our tiny little home was bursting at the seams, yet what was leaking out was happiness. Over the next year, once again, we waited nine long months until a tiny little girl joined our family fun. We called her our farm baby, conceived in the very place where she was born, the one that is the same place where she has grown up. This house saw her birth, watched the tears of joy we cried, and listened silently as we continued raising our family.
After another year, our tiny house was screaming to be added onto. We listened, saved, planned, and doubled the size of our home. It was not so little anymore. Eventually, three more children were added to our ever-growing family. Next, grandbabies joined in the fun. Even our grandmother moved in for a season.
Through it all, this home sat patiently while we inflicted scratches and scars that come with raising a family. As we worked to repair any damage, we often reminded ourselves, “It’s just a farmhouse.” You see, in an older farmhouse, the boards are often a little crooked, doors sometimes squeak, and perfection is often missed.
Our little farmhouse has witnessed so much joy, but it also holds the secret of sitting with us in our sorrow. This home held our little girl’s body the day her spirit left for Heaven. It watched as we handed her over . . . never to return to this place. It waited while we said goodbye, then welcomed us back with a respectful silence. It listened as we bared our souls and watched as our grief-filled tears were shed. It offered us a welcome reprieve from the outside world. A place of peace and comfort, of memories and happiness, a place of understanding for our sorrow and our joy.
This little farmhouse holds no judgment, only comfort for our weary hearts. Not every house gets to experience the full circle of life, nor are they all privileged to witness both birth and death. Not every house has seen a lifetime of joy and sorrow mixed in a single breath because not every house gets to be a home.
The untrained eye might simply think it’s just a farmhouse.
Originally published on the author’s Facebook page
by Kim Hanson 
by Laura Costea 
by Kayla Runkel 
