Dear Four Story Wood House,

 You are large, not small. You are wood, not brick. My childhood has mostly been spent on the third floor. My bedroom walls were white -left blank for the imagination- until I decided that I wanted to live in the clouds. Blue. The carpet is gray. Long and soft. It was the same throughout the house, except for the deep magenta in my parents room. Wallpaper lined the walls throughout the living room and kitchen. Now the wallpaper has left is for good. Replaced by sunny days. Always full of books, enough books to fill a library. Memories will always line your walls and fill your holes and cracks.

One of My Favorite Things...

One of my favorite things is spending time with my family, with laughter bouncing off the walls. 
Outside my window a woodpecker pecks on the side of the house. 
I am thinking about how I am undeserving of His grace. 
From the kitchen comes food from love touched hands. 
I am wearing beauty on my sleeve to hide my imperfection. 
I am reading ten books about Theodore Roosevelt, all telling the same stories ten different ways. 
I am hearing my cat scratching at the door. 
I am hoping for lifelong friends. 
Around the room books are everywhere. 
I am going to be okay, because God is good. 
I am thankful for the unconditional love my parents have given me.