I watched the puddles grow in size due to the continuous fall of rain.
I’m at school right now…looking at my beautiful city through puddles and tinted windows.
The bustle of people and cars reminds me of home. Not because my home is like this city, but that my home is quite opposite.
Home sweet home. How many times have you heard that saying? Have you ever thought about what that truly means?
Maybe I can help.
I don’t always think of my home as sweet, unfortunately, but the times that I do, it truly is sweet.
I think of it as it’s sweetest during the holidays. The smell of candy apples and sweet ginger greet you as you enter the house.
You enter straight to the kitchen to see my mom busy at the stove making sure the oven is set correctly, and the stove top cleaned enough to accept another pot.
You can see my sister busily setting up the music on our TV getting our favorite Christmas album: Bebe and Cece Winans: First Christmas.
You can see my daddy seasoning and preparing the turkey to go into the oven. Singing at the top of his lungs “Give me a star!”
My brothers can be heard all throughout the house playing their games either laughing or angrily yelling at their enemies on their phones/TV screen.
The murmur of my Granddad’s TV comes through the floor of the kitchen…I think he’s either watching a documentary on WWII or how erasers are made.
Oh and then there’s me, at the sink, shredding greens smiling to myself wondering how God thought of me to have such a fun, weird, sweet, beautiful (did I already say weird?), and Godly family.
Home sweet home…this is only a glimpse of my sweet home, but oh, it’s good to be home.