In about a month, the kids and I will celebrate one year in our home.

Even typing that feels surreal.

There was a season when owning this house didn’t seem possible. The path here was filled with uncertainty, paperwork, sleepless nights, and more prayers than I could count. There were moments when the dream felt so far outside my reach that I wondered if I should stop reaching for it altogether.

But here we are.

A year later.

The walls have collected laughter. The rooms have become familiar. The little projects continue to make this place feel more and more like us. And this summer, our pool has become the backdrop for some of my favorite moments- watching my kids laugh, inviting friends over, and somehow finding pieces of my own childhood waiting for me in the water.

The house is no longer just a house.

It’s home.

A few days ago, one of my friend’s little girls looked around, smiled, and asked me the sweetest question.

“Are you rich?”

I laughed.

Not because it was funny, but because of how innocent the question was.

At that exact moment, my mind was carrying a very different reality.

The bills waiting on the counter.

The job I still don’t have.

The uncertainty of how everything is going to come together at the end of the month.

By most financial definitions, I certainly don’t feel rich.

But as I looked at her, I realized something.

I didn’t want her to believe that being rich looked like a swimming pool.

Or a fireplace.

Or a two-story house.

Because if that’s what she learns, she’ll spend her whole life chasing things that can never actually make her wealthy.

Real richness is something entirely different.

It’s a life well lived.

It’s love that keeps expanding.

Hope that refuses to stop growing.

Laughter echoing through a backyard.

Meals shared around a table.

People who feel safe enough to walk through your front door and know they’re welcome.

Richness is the life you invite people into.

And as I watched her family enjoy our home, I realized that my life had become richer- not because of what I owned, but because of who I got to share it with.

Children have a beautiful way of asking questions that adults have forgotten to ask.

They see things simply.

They notice what matters.

And sometimes, without realizing it, they reveal what we hope they’ll remember long after we’re gone.

I don’t hope my children remember the square footage of our house.

I hope they remember that people were always welcome.

That our home felt warm.

That laughter was common.

That kindness wasn’t reserved for special occasions.

That generosity had nothing to do with how much money we had.

Because legacy has never been built by possessions.

It’s built by the people we become inside the homes we create.

Lately, my heart has felt like it’s being pulled in two directions.

I am happy…

and I am grieving.

I feel strong…

and I feel incredibly tired.

I feel hopeful…

and uncertain.

I feel rich…

and, if I’m being honest, a little broke.

The older I get, the more I realize life rarely asks us to choose between one feeling or another.

Most of the time, it asks us to carry both.

Joy and sorrow.

Abundance and scarcity.

Confidence and fear.

They often arrive holding hands.

The question isn’t whether life will hand us contradictions.

It will.

The question is which one we’ll allow to define us.

Today, I choose to believe that richness isn’t measured by my bank account.

It’s measured by the people who fill this home.

The memories we’re creating.

The hope we’re still holding.

And the love that keeps making room for one more person around the table.

Maybe that’s what being rich has meant all along.

With all my love, xoxo J