Why I give thanks: A home is so much more than a house

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My husband and I were led to our house. Too many pieces fell into place for it to be just coincidence. We’d been searching for a new home for some time, and when we found it we knew it was meant for us. Looking back, I remember walking through the old two-story colonial Georgian home and falling in love with it. Saying it was perfect, we sat down at the kitchen table and signed the papers on the spot.

At this time of year as we pause to think of what we’re grateful for, I am grateful for my home. As human creatures we often look at what we don’t have instead of what we do, and I am no exception. When the newness wore off and the years went by, I found all kinds of flaws in my home and felt frustrated at what it didn’t have. Someone else’s house was larger or newer. Someone else’s house had the granite countertops I’d always wanted instead of the old tile. And my kitchen was way too small.

When I traveled to Mexico several years ago on a humanitarian mission, I saw entire families living in one-room houses. As I counted all the members in the family, I looked at the only mattress propped against a wall and wondered where everybody slept. Casting my eyes about the room, I glanced up at the single light bulb dangling from the ceiling and noted the lack of a bathroom, our most basic necessity. My house had five bathrooms, and yet I complained that they needed remodeling. Some of the houses I saw were not even fit for the title of "house," the worst one having only an old set of bare springs for a bed, a small empty cupboard, a table and two chairs. It had snowed the night before and the “house” had no door and grocery bags had been stuffed into the windows. How could I be so ungrateful as to think my house inadequate or not good enough?

From that moment on I viewed my home as a castle and felt blessed beyond all measure. It doesn’t matter that my house is old and that we have spent an untold amount of money and time replacing the plumbing and wiring. When I lie in my cozy bed at night and listen to the wind howl or watch the snow silently falling outside, I am thankful that I am safe and warm and protected from the elements.

A home is so much more than a house. It's our solace from the storm and a keeper of our memories, the place where we gather with those we love.

If my home could talk, it would tell of much happiness in the last 20 years. My children grew up in this house, spread their wings as teenagers and brought their friends home on weekends. We could hear their joyous noise in the basement as they played video games or laughed at a movie. My house heard the plink of piano keys from beginning exercises to virtuoso masterpieces, the sound echoing on the hardwood floors and bouncing off the high ceilings like a concert hall. My house has seen dear friends and family gathered for parties in the backyard on warm, sun-drenched days. It has seen me and my husband and our kids sandwiched elbow to elbow in the kitchen, chopping, mixing, sautéing and roasting wonderful foods to be enjoyed around the table with laughter and lively conversation. And now that our children are grown, this house welcomes our grandchildren with open arms, where they will always feel unconditional love.

A home is so much more than a house. It’s our solace from the storm and a keeper of our memories, the place where we gather with those we love. Our children will not care about its flaws, but they will always carry a special place in their hearts for home. No matter its size or whether the floors squeak or the carpet is frayed, our home is a place of happiness, our very identity and the sum total of who we are. During this Thanksgiving season, I am happy to pause and give thanks for my home.

Kelly Thacker is a business owner and writer who is just launching her first novel, "Numberless Dreams."