When my feet find their way unbidden to your front door, it thrills me to my tired toes to see the welcome mat already out and the porch light on. Cheery blooms wave their hello and you always have time for a chat. I just love that. Part of me often wonders if you were expecting me, for you rarely seem surprised. Even driving home from college on impulse, you knew when I was coming.

The cool oasis of fern and flower you’ve created under the oak tree that somehow survived being mowed over repeatedly as a sapling, is now a haven on a hot summer day. Fresh iced tea in the glasses- yours always tastes the best. The smell of earth and foliage as you water and evening comes, bread crumbs tossed out for the birds, and grandchildren hanging from every limb of yet another stubborn tree.

Neighborhood children still knock on your door in the hopes that someone can come out to play. “Who’s that one?” I asked pointing up in the tree one afternoon. “I don’t know,” you smiled, content in the knowledge that your long empty nest is still a safe place to land. “I’m sure he’s a friend of somebody’s.”

For as long as I can remember there has always been room for one more at your table: whether for a friend we drug home without warning in our teens, or bonus sisters from across an ocean and our ever expanding family, or even now, for world weary grownup children who stop by unannounced when these in-the-middle-years get the best of us and we need a moment’s respite.

You in your chairs, pets stretched across laps, your warm greeting blending with the smell of supper on the stove are among the most comforting things in my memory. In winter a cheerful fire in the fireplace warming my back until it’s hot to the touch. In summer, lazy swims and long talks under the moon, watermelon by the pool.

Washing my hands I catch my reflection in the mirror- the same one that’s seen my image since I was four. I’m older now, but the plush carpet beneath my bare feet and the pictures on the walls whisper the same comfort they always have. After dinner conversations roll easy off the tongue- the day’s worries and job and kids, dreams and heartbreaks and old neighborhood news.

Hugs goodbye- the most familiar ones I know- as I head for the door. “Goodnight. Thank you for dinner. Have a great week. Drive safe. I love you.” Each word heartfelt and steeped in belonging. This sense of home goes deep into my bones and warms me as I step into the cool night air and make the drive to the home I’ve built for my own children- may they always feel it’s call.

An unplanned evening made extraordinary by the ordinariness of it all. This place you’ve made a home- the love, the time, the daily welcoming in- is a gift I’m still unwrapping. It is a blessing to my life and to my children and their children and to too many others to count.

Thank you.