By Chantal Alison-Konteh

These walls bear witness to our transformation, who we are is not who we once were.
We’ve grown
We’ve broke
We’ve planted, sowed, and reaped
These floors hold us up as we unearth deep-rooted traumas and fears- in hope of, in search of the curse ending with us. In hope of, intentionally raising up a generation with less wounds, fewer hang-ups - a generation that doesn’t have to recover.

This space is where we lay their foundation. This space is where we wrestle with society's ways and Yahweh. Here, we build up, train up and prepare tiny soldiers. Here, we fill them so that they can overflow there. Forced to stay and we found a way to embrace. We’ve found peace in the stillness, joy in the slow-paced rhythm of grace. In this space, we have become wild. In this space, we have become free. In this space, we have answered the call to abide.

These rooms continue to tuck us away, holding us all, this is home.
Less than Pinterest worthy, the sink often brims with the remnants of full bellies
Less than post-worthy, this home is lived, loved in, broken in - with toddler scribbles on the wall to prove it.

I often find myself longing for the perfect home, you know her home - the her you follow, the her you’ve convinced yourself has a perfect life because her home is actually a home and your space, well your space just feels like nothing more than a place. If I’m not careful I can stay there and discontentment will have my perception in a chokehold. It isn’t long before tiny eyes looking up at me ground me with gratitude - there is nothing more sacred than “mommy, play with me” summoning me to return to the place where we were always meant to be, like a child - full of wonder, full of joy, full of thanksgiving. I am reminded that this space - this imperfect space has held us and continues to bear witness to the ways in which our journey unfolds. Though it may not be our dream, though I long for more - here, right now it is enough, and this too is home.