“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.”
Matthew 22:37–39

Growing up, I was truly blessed.

My Mum and Dad were in love with each other in every way two people can be. More than once I caught them “wrestling” before bed and they never left a room without kissing the other goodbye. Our home was ridiculous and filled with love, joy and laughter.

My Dad was a shepherd and sometimes a lorry driver. My Mum worked on fruit farms before effectively becoming a farm manager, as well as Dad’s assistant at busy times. He’d shear the sheep, she’d roll the fleeces, and when lambing came around it was all hands on deck. Neither job was particularly lucrative, but there was a joy about them.

Mum has always been Christian. Dad was agnostic and of the opinion that when you die, you’re dead.

Money was tight, love was abundant. We didn’t have carpet in our house for many years because it was an expense too far. When they first bought the house, they could afford either a television or a record player. They chose the record player. Maybe that’s why I love music so much now.

Sometimes, when things were extra tight, we’d eat things Dad had caught. Quite often Mum “wasn’t that hungry”. I know now, of course, that she went without to make sure we all had enough.

Dad was a gentle soul. He’d bring home injured wildlife or poorly livestock, and animals and people seemed to know instinctively that they were safe with him. Mum has always had a way of making outsiders feel as though they were simply part of our pack.

Our house really was like that. There was always extra food if one of us brought someone home, always a cup of tea for a crisis, and our friends knew there was somewhere safe to go.

I knew, absolutely, that if I got myself into trouble at two o’clock in the morning, I could make that phone call and someone would come and get me. There might be a telling-off involved — unconditional love does not preclude a parental rollicking — but there was never, ever any doubt that I was loved.

There are lots of songs that remind me of childhood, but Daniel O’Donnell’s Our House Is a Home was practically our family anthem. My parents lived it: “A stranger is always welcome.”

I’ve been thinking about that quite a lot recently.

Jesus tells us to love God and to love our neighbour. He repeatedly draws our attention towards the outsider, the hungry, the frightened and the person who needs somewhere safe to land. He teaches a love that is generous, hospitable and sometimes rather inconvenient. It’s the kind of love that feeds people, puts the kettle on, gets out of bed in the middle of the night to come and find you, and somehow always makes room.

My Mum would recognise that as Christian love. My Dad probably wouldn’t. He would have said he was simply doing what you do for people you love.

Perhaps that’s one of the most important things my Christian/non-Christian household taught me. Long before I understood much about faith, theology or Scripture, I knew what that kind of love felt like because I had lived inside it.

My parents taught me to love wildly, generously and without first asking whether somebody had earned it or what I’d get in return. As I grow in my own faith, I think I’m beginning to understand why the love Jesus describes feels so familiar.

I grew up in a house where that kind of love already felt like home.

Have a blessed week

-Laura