Home...

I got the book, "A Little House Reader, A collection of Writings by Laura Ingalls Wilder", out of the library.  As I was reading through it I came upon this poem written by Mary Ingalls.  It really amazes me that when we have our home in order we still continue to complain about it.  I've been known to complain about our small little house, but now that we are displaced for the moment I really miss it a great deal.  The simplicity of living on our own land, growing our own food and eventually raising chickens for eggs. 

The Lord has really shown me SO much during this time.  My Mom had mentioned to me that they wanted to downsize and had thought about us buying their house.  I was SO ready to move right in...5 bedrooms and a ton of space.  Where do we sign??  My husband was not so quick to accept or agree.  I was pretty upset, but that is the reason God made the Husband the head of the marriage.  But since our bathroom incident we have been living in that very house...I'm really not liking living in the village anymore...I loved it as a child.  You have people "noticing" your every move!!  We like to keep to ourselves, and we can not do that here.  We want our home to be a place of quiet peace, you can't have that living on a main road.  I see now that we could not be completely comfortable here!  But Lord did you have to destroy the bathroom to show me that?? LOL! 

Enjoy the poem below!  Who knew Mary was a writer as well.  The book has writings from almost all the Ingalls/Wilder family members.  I'm going to put this book on my wish list of one to add to my book shelf.

The Old Home

The summer sun is shining,

A disk of burnished gold,

For Home my heart is pining

With love of depth untold.

God grant me grace and power,

And grant a shining trail

To speed me home this hour;

O'er mountain, hill and vale.

The prairie rose is blushing

The sun's kiss on her cheek;

The wind with glee is rushing

In merry hide-and-seek.

The tiger lily's stalking

The gaudy goldenrod,

The meadow lark is talking

Of shadows on the sod.

The harvest moon is beaming

And casting silver sheen

Where life is hushed and dreaming

O'er field and meadow green.

The far church bell is ringing

A-calling us to meet,

And join the throng a-singing

Our Saviour's praises sweet.

I long to see the homestead,

With trees a-shading o'er,

With roses in the garden bed

And sunshine on the floor;

The dear ones there a-dwelling

I long again to see,

And something keeps a-telling

A welcome's there for me.

The August sun is shining

A burnished disk of gold

My heart for home is pining-

The home I knew of old.

My sisters and brother

For me are waiting there-

And sweet-faced little mother

With shining silver hair.

~~Mary Ingalls