Thursday, May 5, 2011


I have said it before this house is THE house that built me. I don't know hard work. I don't know real trouble. I don't know what is like to not have a home. I don't know what it is like to have everything taken from you in a tornado. These pictures are somewhere around 1938. I am so thankful to have THIS house.

This oak tree is now so large it would take 4 people to wrap our arms around it.

The original house was built in the early 1900's and burned. The house was rebuilt in 1931 and most of the house still has original features. Sometime I will have to post pics of the door knobs that own me or the scary cellar under the house. My 2nd cousin found these pictures and shared them with me. Something about these pictures makes me cry and smile. I moved into this house when I was 6 years old ...with a broken leg. Yes, same leg. The house likes me broken. My parents added on to the back of the house when we moved. They added another bathroom, another den and a master bedroom. Yet much of the house still looks the same. There is a history here in this house.

If this land could talk it would tell stories. Stories of Kent Dairy Farms. Stories of bottling Raw Milk. Stories of droughts and depression. Stories of the farm crisis in the 1980's which led to closing down of Kent Dairy Farms. There are more stories of the family that worked this land. The children who ran barefoot and hid in the haystacks. There were life lessons learned on tractor rides. There are animal stories. There are stories that became legend. Canning vegetables and making jelly were weekend events in my home.

It is my family history.

It is my history.

It is now my children's history.

I look at these pictures and my healing continues.

I drag myself to work because I have a history behind me.

The house is symbolic of my relationship with Christ.

He is writing my history.

A history only He planned.

When I am broken, I go to him.

He restores me like I restore this house.

When I get lost in this world I turn back to Him.

I am home until He calls me to His forever home.


kim jones said...

marsha, i have such fond memories in that house too! i remember the old house you guys lived in before this one. i too remember playing in the haystacks and your mother yelling out the door at me and michelle while we were playing in the pasture warning us that there was a bull somewhere out there! i remember the creepy old cellar. but mostly i remember the friendship that was built there. your family is so special to me and some of my greatest childhood memories are in that house!

eimrek said...

Marsha, you tell a wonderful story of a beautiful life. Please keep sharing and keep healing.