The House.

Today work lead me into a home of a boy with Autism. The house was filthy. I threw up in my mouth, literally. I don't know if I have ever in my life felt so sick because of a smell. When I got in the car Miranda Lambert's "The House That Built Me" came on the radio. I cried.

The house that built me was clean. It fed me good fresh food. It tucked me in at night so tightly that not the fiercest bed bug or monster from the closet could get to me. The house that built me made sure that I hugged my parents and told them that I love them. It saw me mess up, but no matter what it made sure that there was forgiveness and love. And when it was cold it always made sure that I had a big mug of hot chocolate.

This house doesn't do that. In that house, the bed bugs do bite. The closets shouldn't even be opened, they can't be trusted. There are no hugs, hardly even a "Hello, how was your day?" When hot chocolate is made, it sits on the counter for weeks, stains the mug and gathers unwelcome guests.

I cried in the car. I cried when I got home. I'm crying now (the very last episode of the Oprah Winfrey Show is on). I wondered what Oprah would say if we sat down and talked about it. But that is silly because I know what she would say. "When you know better, you do better." That broken home doesn't know how to build, how to renovate, how to love. I hope that I can put love there, if not me than may that seed be planted by someone else.

I hope that in the heart of every home love can be found. Father, thank you for providing me with a home that built, and still builds even after I am gone. I pray that others would be blessed to know the home that I was raised by.