I once went to stay at a wealthy friends’ amazing family home.Their local status was obvious. Every person we saw on our many walks was highly deferencial. The rooms of the house were filled with fine antique heirlooms. Each item I laid eyes on seemed to be a collector’s treasure.
Even the food was remarkable. They had a cook. A real live chef person. Honestly. I kid you not.

I thought about my parent’s tiny cottage in the centre of a busy school, held together with love and a decent bit of string. Had I missed out? I wondered. Did my background lack anything? How would I have turned out if WE had had a cook? I am amply contoured as it is! 🙂

I remember the first time I had another one of my rich friends (there were many at my Uni) back home to stay. I had spent a couple of weeks at her home abroad with her ‘fluent- in-four-languages- each’ entourage. Now it was her turn to come to me. Embarrassed by the lack of space, my somewhat uncouth younger brothers and the fact that all of our furniture was very old, (the use of string obvious in some cases) I feared what she might think.

I’ve never forgotten her reaction as we walked through the door. My parents leapt up from the table and my brothers bounded down the (tiny) cottage stairs. I was enveloped in seconds and welcomed home rudely, warmly and loudly.

My friend, who had spent much of her childhood at an elite boarding school, stood a little awkwardly, clearly unused to family displays of such open affection. She was soon swept into my Dad’s arms too and seemed to relish it! She beamed. She didn’t stop smiling the whole time she was there.

My parents don’t believe in saying nice things about people at their funeral alone. If they love or appreciate someone they are very skilled and practiced at telling and showing them, us kids included. We are, therefore, an unusually affectionate bunch. My brothers (now ranging from 30-40 in age) all kiss and hug one another, and me, like over-the-top Italians. My Dad is so expressive and emotional he’s been known to cry at adverts, and my Mum is an expert at capturing every moment (whether important or otherwise) on her much maligned camera. (“stupid thing isn’t working AGAIN”) If we sit together on a sofa, we hug, touch and hold hands. It’s just what we do.

As a result of this comfortable affection, I now have a very tender nature. I love loving others and being loved in return. It means I am extremely vulnerable to hurt, but you can’t love people guardedly.

I’ve never had to earn the approval or appreciation of my family. It’s a given. Whether I pass or fail an exam, whether I’m a size 8 or 18, whether I ‘make it’ as a singer, or a writer or not… whether I burn the dinner or create a ‘master chef’ style dessert. They don’t care. They love me anyway. I was thinking today that this knowledge is worth more than any grandiose family home. Plus, it’s better (and less fattening) than being cooked for by a Nigella every night.

The way we are treated influences our self image so much. It shows us our worth before others and ultimately also before God. If we feel a lack of love in our lives, we question our importance and value, finding it hard to love others well.

When was the last time you opened your heart and told someone you loved them? Three little words…. So much meaning.

When I’m old and grey (er) I don’t want a posh house in the country. I want a little cottage, a lot of people to love and a sturdy old ball of string.