The House that Built Me

For years, when I have dreamt of being at home, I have dreamt about this house- my first home. My "Always will be" earthly home. Even when dreams are of John, Addison, and myself- they take place in this home- just as it was in 1989. Over twenty years later, I still remember every detail inside this ranch-style that my parents built when I was barely 2. This home that sat on the 100-year old farm of my Riggs family. This home that was surrounded by white throughout the year- whether it was from the foot of snow we often saw in this flat delta land of Northeast Arkansas or the bountiful crop of cotton God had blessed us with for that year's harvest.  But, the inside. That is where I remember the most. From the fact that the bathroom Zac and I shared always had the light blown, to where he would hide as a child in the top of the hall linen closet, to sitting on the butcher-block countertop in the kitchen singing along with the Forrester Sisters' version of "White Christmas," to moving the stick out of the sliding glass door that Daddy had "installed" as our idea of a security system. I remember sitting on the couch on either side of Daddy when he told us Pa Pa Houston had passed. I remember getting a spot for backhandsprings in the long stretch of carpet that formed the walkway from the den to the kitchen. I remember Granny Houston playing Christmas carols at our Riggs' family Christmas Eves. I remember Pa Pa Riggs checking every closet and bath tub for "boogers" when we'd come home from town after dark.

As Mother and Daddy celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary this year, the memories of this home have been much more vibrant. The house is just brick and morter, some 2x4s, and Berber carpet. But, the Christ-centered love and lessons that were forever instilled in me make this HOME. As happy as I am in my life and with my very own miraculous family, it took months before I could listen to Miranda Lambert's song "The House that Built Me". Floods of these memories would rush back, the longing to be with those I dearly love that have gone to our eternal home, the fanciful ideas and dreams of being a lawyer, an astronaut, or the next Patsy Cline- all just a breath away. But, I am reminded of the hopes and dreams that have been ever-present for as long as I can remember. The dream of being a wife, a mother, a teacher. These dreams- the most important- that came true. Those dreams wouldn't have been realized without the love, the discipline, the responsibilty, the teaching of Truth, and the fun that came from those that entered this home, those that dwelled in this home, and those that have passed from this home.

I am fortunate and proud to claim a handful of things: I am the wife of John Hunt. I am the mother of Addison Blythe Hunt. I am the sister of one of the finest men I've ever known. I am the daughter of a man and woman who have been committed to one another, to their children, and to their God for their whole lives. I belong to Max and Joy Riggs and to Doyle and Betty Houston. I belong to Christ. None of those things would've happened had I not experienced what occurred within the walls of this house that built me.