The Big Magic of a Small House

I Love My Small House

I love my small house.

It might be odd to say in the age of influencers and Pinterest, but I do— I love my small house.

It’s been six years since we moved into our house, but I remember the day we made an offer like it was yesterday.

We’d been looking for months, and despite my own mounting frustrations, I was the one rejecting each new promising prospect.

Too old.

Strange layout.

Bad location.

Weird vibes.

So, I know my husband was holding his breath when he told me he had found the perfect house for us.

I knew he was right the very moment I stepped through the front door.

It looked like home.

It felt like home.

It smelled like home.

And just a couple of weeks later, it was home.

Over the next few weeks, we made it our own. Rooms were refreshed with new coats of paint, old light fixtures were updated, furniture was arranged, and rooms were decorated. And although the main floor was only 1,200 sq. feet, our quaint little ranch felt spacious to our family of three— for a while.

The following year, our daughter was born. A bouncer, bassinet, and an obscene number of toys overtook the formerly spacious living room.

The storage room became home to bins filled with outgrown clothes and forgotten toys piled so high it felt as if an unfortunate game of Jenga could happen at any moment. 

Tiny knees that once scooted carefully across the carpet grew into scurrying little feet, zipping from one end of the house to the other in three seconds flat.

And just like that, our small house started to feel, well— small.  

But over the years, despite the occasional frustrations, I’ve learned that there’s big magic to be found in a small house.

I love that our living room is the heartbeat of our home. It’s a playroom, a dance floor, a movie theatre, and even a family-friendly gym.

I love that I can be cozied up on the couch and still hear my son’s rhythmic humming as he lulls himself to sleep at night.

I love that I can hear my daughter’s late-night whimpers and be at her bedside before she even opens her eyes from a bad dream.

I love how the smell of cookies wafts effortlessly through the entire house when we bake, lingering in the air for hours.

I love how the fireplace can make the whole house glow like a warm lantern on a frigid winter night.

But what I love most of all is that my favorite people are never more than a dozen steps away.

Someday soon, this kind of closeness will only be reserved for special occasions— ones that are counted in hours, not years.

I often remind myself of this when my small house begins to feel cramped and crowded— or even inadequate.

My little humans won’t be little for long. And when that day comes, this little house will no longer be a memory-making haven but simply a sacred souvenir of what once was.

And that’s what makes it easy to say,

I love my small house.

If you enjoyed this blog post, I think you’ll love When Quiet Turns to Comfort. It’s about an unforeseen event that quickly spiraled into a painfully anxious season— and the decision we must all make when faced with the unexpected.