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The Fishing House

The Fishing House

My husband’s younger brother and sister host the majority of his family’s gatherings like Thanksgiving and Christmas. When his older brother comes into town, he and his wife treat everyone to drinks, dinner and desserts.

And us?

We used to take our turn hosting, but not since we downsized from 4,000-square-feet to a space a fourth its size.

Our former house, which came to be known as the Big House, entertained the multitudes. Our beach cottage left me wondering what it had to offer.

We loved it, but I hated the thought of it being a selfish place, one just for us. It seemed we bought a house with no hospitality

Questioning the goodness of my home felt similar to questioning the importance of my talent in the post about Covered Wagons.

Thankfully, that all changed the morning I listened to my husband and his dad having a conversation over coffee on our back deck. They were waiting for my husband’s brother and his daughter to join them for a day of fishing. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but through the screen door I heard chatter intermingled with laughter.

The little building in our backyard turned into storage for a fishing cart, buckets, several fishing poles, and beach chairs. We had a golf cart parked under our carport to haul all that gear to the ocean, which was 700 feet away. A pack of shrimp marked “Fishing Bait” was always in our freezer unless the fishermen had it on the beach.

Then and there, I deemed our small space The Fishing House. Turns out, our home had something to offer the family after all.

WRite wHere I’m supposed to be –  Thank you, God, for bringing us a heart-warming perspective on our home, just like the incoming tide brings good fishing.

I have something for you!


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