have you ever driven past a house that seems to be screaming, "come inside, sit down in this chair, listen to me, i have such stories to tell you," ?

someday i'm going to live in a house that has a story to tell.

the panels that comprise its wrap-around porch will creak as if to say "we have seen so many visitors in our time." the once vibrant paint will be chipped and faded, almost forming its own language. not a legible language that we humans can read, but one that only the house can read and tell. a language that tells a story.

leading up to the house will be a lane. not one of sharp, modern pavement but constructed of simple dirt and stone; the old-fashioned way. lining this lane will be weeping willow trees, bowing across to form a lush canopy, as if in honor of the beauty that surrounds them. at the end of the lane will stand a single yellow mailbox. not that ugly neon color that the teenagers wear these days, but a soft, inviting yellow. picture in your mind, a field of mustard flowers, sprinkled with a dusting of paprika and mixed together with an enormous wooden-handled paintbrush; that will be the color of my mailbox. the pole the yellow mailbox rests upon will be rusted and bent, as it has been there for many years and weathered many storms.

there will be many windows in my house, allowing the warmth of the sun to fill every nook and cranny. in the mornings, the rays will beat in, casting a magical glow that seems to say "this is what the glow of pixie dust looks like, my little dreamer."
my kitchen will be one of love. this room will be cheery and bright, welcoming all who enter. it will be noisy, always a-bustle with the liveliness of people young and old. the food will tell stories; recipes passed from generation-to-generation, with a touch of new life splashed in for good measure. fresh fruits and vegetables will always be plentiful, keeping the body healthy and happy.
the bedrooms will be havens for my children, places they can spend time learning about themselves and the world around them. the rooms will be their own spaces, with the freedom to decorate and discover as they choose.

this structure that will be mine someday will not simply be a house, but it will be a home. it will be filled with my boy, my children, and welcome to all. it will be a free and non-judgemental place, a haven for learning and discovery. hikes will be taken, paintings will be created, music will be made. evenings will be spent playing games and reading the classics, gathered around the tv watching the Phillies or an old black-and-white classic. laughter will fill every corner, and conversation will never be sparse.

someday, i will have such a house. a home. a home that posesses an entire book of stories. i will make my own story to add to this book. a story of love, of faith, of happiness, of discovery, of creativity, of wonder.