IdaHOME

What makes a house a home? This is something that I've thought about for a while now. The argument could be made that it's where someone cooks for you. All of my favorite homes are where people feed me. (Take note: If you can cook, that's a major selling point. For the record, I CAN cook, I just don't like to. Partially because when I do I end up eating the same thing for a week straight. You can only eat so much spaghetti...) But I digress. I think what makes a home boils down to LOVE. There's a distinct difference in a home where it is built on love, and just a house. The home that I grew up in never had many pictures, because we might be the most unphotogenic family ever, but I always could feel the love and support that my parents had for me and my brothers. I knew my parents were proud of me because they always hung up or displayed my art projects, no matter how terrible they were. Can we take a minute to talk about the clay sculpture I made in 9th grade that sat displayed in our house until I BEGGED my mom to throw it away because it was seriously so terrible? Occasionally when a good picture surfaced, we would put it in a nice frame and hang it on the wall to show that occasionally we COULD take a good picture. (Sometimes those pictures dated back to the 80's though.)
I recently visited a friend's house to drop of some homemade chocolate chip cookies (what's that? You want my recipe? It's the one on the back of the chocolate chip bag. I figure it's tried and true, right?) and he invited me in and showed me around. There were pictures of his family everywhere, and all sorts of art projects hung up. He started telling me about his family and everything in the house, and you can tell that it was more than a house, it was a home. He started telling me about his siblings and nieces and nephews, and it was obvious he loves them. Being a single adult, I feel like I don't often get to spend time in homes, so I cherish the moments that I do. (Also, a random worry of mine: If I can't get the lid off my pickle jar, who am I going to ask?? There aren't any manly men in my home!)
This brings me to the title of this blog. I'm in Idaho! Just one of my homes away from home. There are a lot of places that I consider home, and grandma and grandpa's home is definitely one of them. This morning when I came out for breakfast, I was greeted with a big hug, pancakes, eggs, and, homemade raspberry jam (I'm convinced that Grandma's cooking is better than just about anything else in this world). I've never had any doubt that my grandparents love me. Just now my grandpa asked me if I want to go shooting with him! (Definitely another way to my heart.) Every time I come to Idaho, I stop in Provo to visit friends and/or spend the night. I stayed with my friend Lizzie, whom I love and adore. Provo, not so much. Being in Provo is confirmation to me that I absolutely made the right choice in going to BYU-Idaho. Provo is just too big and busy for me. Note: I have nothing against BYU itself, it's just not a good fit for me. I love being in a city, but also being close enough to the country that I can get away for a bit if I need to. It didn't hurt that my grandparents lived 30 minutes away either. Family is everything to me. My mom and I had a rocky relationship when I was a kid, due mainly to the fact that I was a butthead, but now she is my best friend and I can tell her about anything. My people skills have much improved since childhood. I know my dad always has my back. I don't necessarily talk to him about anything and everything, but I know if I have a question about the important things in life (what are taxes and why do I have to pay them? Also, how do I do my taxes?) I know my dad is there to help me out. I've never seriously doubted that my parents loved me. Just the minor doubts that every teenager has when they can't do what they want when they want. Or you know, that one time I went a year without a bedroom door because I slammed it one too many times. As a child and teenager, I was convinced my parents hated me and stayed up at night plotting ways to make my life miserable. As an adult, I can fully admit that that was a GENIUS idea and will probably be employing it as a parent.
But we've gotten off the point here. The difference between a house and a home is love. In my opinion. Every time I come to Idaho, I can't leave without stopping to see the Idaho Falls Temple. This temple is very special to me, because it is where my parents were sealed together, and it is where I received my endowment. This is where my family literally began. The temple is The House of the Lord, but I think it's more like a Home. Heavenly Father gives us temples because he loves us. I feel it every time I go inside. I can't wait for this beautiful building to reopen so I can go back inside. Until then, at least it's not the only temple!

What do you think makes a house a home?