I'm Grateful
Grateful that I found a sanctuary over the Christmas break; it's not new, or even discovered. I've hid there under beds, kicked holes in the plaster walls, and stolen ice cream from the fridge at one in the morning. It's my home. My home is chocking with olden memories, and I just rediscovered how safe a place it is!
The distinct feature to which I'm referring is the fuzzy, tangible, permeating, and action-motivating feeling of both love and the Spirit of the Lord. I don't frequent publicly my personal feelings of the Spirit, and I don't write this to come off snooty. Remember, I was just struck, and struck to realize that the Spirit is in my home. Even when my family is off on vacation and I'm the only one there.
I'm not naive in believing that the Spirit resides in metaphysical places for extended periods of time because It has nowhere else to go. No, my reader, the reason the Spirit stays in my home is because of my parents' actions in preserving virtue within the walls, at any personal expense.
Let me elucidate. On my sixteenth birthday we invited the whole sophomore class over for my birthday party. The entire sophomore class came- which meant a flavorful melting pot of cliques, hair-colors, and standards. Some of my peers started, well... participating... in actions that were strictly forbidden in my home. My mother stopped them as quickly and secretly as they had begun. With the stopping left a large group of my high school friends, all of them offended. They never came back, which is a sincere travesty.
What I've realized, though, is that not everyone left. The Spirit stayed. And It will continue to stay, because my parents have done everything, even to extremes, to protect our home.
This weekend, I felt the benefits of their courage. I was safe, protected, and uplifted, for simply being at home.
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