There is something permanent, and something extremely profound

“There is something permanent, and something extremely profound, in owning a home.” So spoke Kenny Guinn, and in those few words, he gave voice to a truth as old as civilization itself. For a home is not merely stone and timber, nor walls and a roof — it is the sanctuary of the soul, the place where human life roots itself in the earth. To own a home, to shape a space that is one’s own, is to participate in the eternal rhythm of belonging. It is to declare to the world: Here I stand. Here I build. Here I live.

From the dawn of humankind, when the first fire was kindled in a cave and shadows danced upon the walls, the dream of home burned within the human heart. The nomad longed for rest, the wanderer for soil to call his own. In the heart of every traveler there resided a secret ache — the yearning for a place that did not move when the wind rose, a place that bore the marks of one’s hands and the warmth of one’s love. Thus, homeownership became not just a mark of wealth, but a covenant — a union between man and earth, between effort and reward, between life and legacy.

In Guinn’s words, “something permanent” speaks not merely of property but of continuity, of the thread that ties generations together. When a person builds or buys a home, they do not build only for themselves; they build for the unborn — for children who will laugh within its walls, for grandchildren who will remember the smell of its gardens. The home endures when we do not, and in that endurance lies its profound meaning. It stands as a monument to the hours of labor, the quiet hopes, the tears and triumphs of its makers. It is permanence in a world that changes with every dawn.

Consider the story of Abraham Lincoln’s humble log cabin, built with his father’s rough hands in the wilderness of Kentucky. It was a small dwelling, no grand palace, yet from that modest home came one of the greatest spirits of his nation. That cabin, weathered and simple, was not important for its size or comfort, but for what it symbolized — the dignity of labor, the sanctity of family, the permanence of purpose. It was the soil from which greatness grew. So too, in every age, the home — whether mansion or cottage — is the seedbed of destiny.

Owning a home also teaches responsibility, for the soil gives nothing to those who will not tend it. A home must be cared for — its roof repaired, its walls kept whole, its garden nourished. This act of care binds the soul to the world. Through it, we learn stewardship, gratitude, and patience. A person who owns and tends their home learns to see beyond themselves — to understand that they are part of something enduring. Thus, the home is both teacher and temple: it teaches humility, yet it lifts the spirit toward the eternal.

And yet, Guinn’s words speak not only of property but of identity. For to have a home is to have a place where the mask can fall away, where the spirit can rest from its battles. The world outside may be fierce, filled with the noise of ambition and strife, but within the home, there is peace — the peace of belonging, the peace of safety, the peace of love. It is in the home that the heart learns tenderness, that children learn what goodness means, and that the weary remember they are not alone.

Lesson: Cherish your home, whether large or small, whether owned or shared. Build it not only with money, but with care, patience, and love. Let its walls echo with kindness, and its hearth glow with warmth. For as Kenny Guinn taught, in the permanence of a home lies the permanence of the soul. To build a home is to build a legacy; to keep it is to honor your life; and to fill it with love is to touch eternity itself.

So, let your home be not only shelter but sanctuary. Make it a place where peace dwells, where laughter lingers, and where every stone remembers your name. For in the end, the truest measure of a life well lived is not what we have owned, but what we have made our own.