Home, sweet home

Published June 3, 2012 by thinkinbout

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“Home is where the heart is.”

“There’s no place like home.”

Cliche, but so true. My happiest times were in a little town called Lynchburg. I remember summer days playing on the swing set and running through the sprinkler, which was shaped funny and had a bunch of arms that sprayed water. I remember making snow angels, and friends from church and school, and fireflies that were so numerous they lit up the woods like a light show behind the house.

I remember happy times and wee sing and playing with the neighbors, and the most fun Sunday school ever.

I was happy there. I was good there. These were the days before badness and evil took over, the only place I have ever been truly happy and fulfilled. I miss it so much. I desperately long to be that happy little girl that was lost once she moved to a hateful place called Centreville.

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I know they say you can’t go home again
I just had to come back one last time
Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam
But these handprints on the front steps are mine
Up those stairs in that little back bedroom
Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar
I bet you didn’t know under that live oak
My favorite dog is buried in the yard

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years
From Better Homes and Gardens magazine
Plans were drawn and concrete poured
Nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama’s dream

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

You leave home and you move on and you do the best you can
I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could walk around I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

–Miranda Lambert, “The House that Built Me”

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