It was the fourth home that we completely gutted, set high upon a mountaintop with views as far as the eye could see. Thirteen acres, wild as our own dreams of building a one-of-a-kind sanctuary nestled into the giant boulders at the outcropping perched one mile up the winding drive. 

Nearly two years of constant obsession and our home was nearly complete. It was “installation day,” which meant the unloading and unboxing of furnishings and treasures, their exact placement perfectly formed in my mind from hundreds of hours of drawing and dreaming, calculating and creating. 

In my mind I had imagined colors and patterns, positions and scale. Beautiful things. Gazed upon. Admired. And I believed with all my heart that I had accomplished my mission. 

At dinner hour we joined my mama and daddy on the veranda just as the sun dipped down to the distant sea. Exhausted, we kicked up our feet and sipped our cabernet to the coos of morning doves and the chatter of coyotes on the hunt nearby.

Then Daddy raised his glass and voice—

“Your home is beautiful, Baby. Now live in it.”

Live. In. It. Those three words, even writing them, still make me cry. 

My inclination is to capitalize them, here, for emphasis but their deepest and most lovely meaning should be uttered like a whisper or a prayer…

Live. In. It. I need to ask, what does this mean to you? Is your sanctuary the place you run from or run to when you need a little peace and calm? What is your relationship to your sacred spaces, are they intimate and comfortable, do they exude a sense of who you are?