There is something powerful about the concept of “home” for us as humans.
It is celebrated in movies (There’s no place like home) immortalized in music (Take Me Home, Country Roads), written about in literature, celebrated in magazines, and enviable in advertisements. Everywhere we turn, we’re reminded that home represents more than a physical space. It is the heart of where we are from and hopefully, the place where we feel safe, connected, and loved.
But not only is home a place of emotion and nostalgia, psychologists tells us the impact goes beyond the physical space. It is a place where we feel rooted and connected. Research shows that our connection to home even impacts our well-being. People with a strong attachment to their home feel more secure, less stressed, and more content throughout their lives.
The importance of home (and family) is one of the motivating factors behind Kim and I launching The Hope Effect now nearly ten years ago. Home provides stability and serves as the foundation upon which we build our identities and relationships—starting at a very young age. So helping move the world toward care for orphaned children that includes family is deeply important work and we’re proud to be part of it.
But even apart from nonprofit work, as parents, this truth about the importance of home serves as both an opportunity and responsibility. The homes we create for our children are more than just physical shelter—it is the space within which, our children’s memories are made and identity is formed.
And it is interesting to note, that very few of our most beloved memories from home are focused on the things that we owned. At least, that is the case for me.
When I think of my childhood, I have fond memories. But very few relate to the physical possessions in our closets or garage.
Instead, I remember being in the backyard, with my dad, working in the garden. And for some reason, he’s never wearing a shirt when I recall the memory. I think back fondly and can picture our family tradition of eating cereal for dinner on Sunday night. I remember playing with my friends in the backyard. And I remember playing games with my siblings around our kitchen table.
These memories are both precious and priceless, and they had nothing to do with material possessions. In fact, I remember very few physical possessions from my childhood: my bike, a baseball glove, some G.I. Joe’s, and a baseball card collection show up vividly. But that’s about it.
I don’t remember our couches, curtains, rugs, cookware, or the clothes from my closet. I don’t recall the items in our pantry, the pillows on our couch, or even the decorations that hung on the walls.
They were there, in our home, certainly. But they do not form the foundation for my memories.
I grew up in a lower Middle Class family in the middle of small town America. Maybe kids who had incredibly wealthy parents would tell a different story about remembering all the stuff around them. But something tells me—even in that environment—a child’s most cherished memories have little to do with physical possessions.
The physical objects from our home growing up fade into the background. But the love, the laughter, relationships, and sense of belonging come to the forefront. These were the moments that shaped me and I recall them with fondness and joy.
Our homes are where memories are made.
And I know not everyone got to enjoy that type of home and family growing up, but it is something we can all strive to create for our own.
As parents, the environment we create in our homes will become the backdrop for our children’s memories. The culture we create, the time we spend, the love we show, and the conversations we share. These are the moments that will shape their view of home and family for the rest of their lives.
Too often, we fall into the trap of believing that a home needs to be filled with things to be complete. We think we need the latest gadgets, the trendiest furniture, the largest television, the upgraded countertops, or endless toys for our children. But when we reflect on our own childhoods, we realize that the most meaningful memories had nothing to do with material possessions.
Even worse, sometimes we chase those things at the expense of what our kids needs most from us. The very physical possessions that fade into the back of our kids’ memories take up space in our homes and in our minds, requiring maintenance, organization, money, and time—time that could be spent building memories with our families.
On the other hand, when we live intentionally, we make room for more connection, more love, more experiences, and richer memories that our kids can take with them forever.
Our homes are the canvas upon which our children will paint their memories. Let’s fill them with all the right things.
