In nearly 28 years of marriage, Mr. Gorgeous and I have lived in four apartments, four houses, and two mobile homes.

When we were in our first apartment which had about 500 square feet and pink appliances, I bought John a plaque. It said something like: “On the outside it looks like a house, but inside it feels like a home.” In those tiny rooms, we made a decision — it was a good one. We determined that no matter where we lived, no matter its size or location, we would make it a home. And we have.

At times, making a place a home involved cans of paint, curtains, pictures, rugs, and furniture along with a hammer and nails. But most of the time, making our residence a home involved creating memories and sharing love. Those things are free. Yes, some memories involve spending money — games, videos, popcorn, etc., but those “things” are really on the fringe of the memories.

When our boys were young, we lived in a huge old farm house that had been moved into town in Iowa. It had a full basement and an upstairs. We loved it. Christmas stockings hung from the oak banister of the staircase in the entry hall while our Christmas tree sat in the front window in the living room. the front deck was comfortable and we spent hours on it. And for our sons, there were trees to climb and a trampoline in the back yard. One day Nathan asked if we were rich. John and I explained that we were rich in love and memories and family… things that mattered.

Honestly, aren’t those the things that make a house into a home? Isn’t it the people with whom we live under that roof? Don’t we treasure the warmth, caring, and love that we find within its walls? Aren’t we compelled to return again to that place of acceptance and warmth by the memories that were created in those rooms and with those people?

I become concerned when I see couples who work so hard to make a living that they forget there is a life to be lived. When I see children who have every “thing” imaginable, but have very little time with those who love them I feel sad — for all of them. There is a myth in the world that “quality” time is more important the “quantity” of time.

I beg to differ. Both matter.

Quality of time allowed our family to make up a game in a borrowed RV in the South Dakota Black Hills during a rain storm. Quality of time enabled us to plan and prepay for tickets that took us on a speed boat ride across Lake Michigan in Chicago — little did we know that trip would be taken in a rain and thunder storm! Quality of time allowed us to include each of the boys in planning for the family vacation we took the year he graduated from high school. Quality matters. However, just like with M&Ms, quantity matters too.

It was the quantity of time that enabled us to create many of the memories that we treasure: evenings playing football in the park across the street, time in the front yard on bikes, roller blades, and skateboards, watching FAMILY MATTERS and THE COSBY SHOW together, notes from the tooth fairy, bedtime prayers following Bible stories, and the laughter… so much laughter. One of my new favorite things has become listening to our boys share their memories of growing up together. This is not a task for the faint of heart, believe me. I have discovered some things about my sons and their antics when I wasn’t looking that… shock, terrify, annoy, and overwhelm me. Really though, I’ve discovered that they created their own memories and that they share different yet similar versions of ours. And that is a good thing.

While the “where” matters, it’s really the “who” and the “what” that makes a house a home.

An older pop song’s chorus says, “It feels like home to me…  It feels like I’m all the way back where I belong.” (Performed by Chantal Kreviazuk.)

Those words are powerful: HOME. It’s more than a place — it’s a feeling.

Belonging. Safety. Love. Acceptance.

Shared history. Memories.

Hugs. Laughter.

Boisterous afternoons. Peaceful nights.

And, it’s the sights, the sounds, and the smells — all of them creating that feeling of home.

Yes, it feels like home.