The Little House with the Green Door

There was a tiny house we lived in when the kids were small. The paint peeled. The porch slanted. But oh, the memories made inside. Sometimes I dream of that green front door and all the stories tucked behind it.

Writing about that season brings it all rushing back—the chaos, the joy, the sacred ordinary. I share those memories here to honor them, and maybe to remind someone else that their “little years” mattered too.