Nope, I didn’t spell “niche” wrong.
I’m not talking about that place everyone searches for where they fill a need only they could fill. I’m talking about The Nitch. My Nitch. My home, quite literally, for the next two years.
The Nitch is the house I live in with five other girls, not to mention countless pseudo-roomies. When we named the place last year before we had even moved in, it was mostly just a joke. But we (or at least, I) had no idea how appropriate it actually was. We’ve managed to carve our house into a real niche (real spelling this time). A one-of-a-kind place where I get to live with one-of-a-kind people. I don’t even have the words to describe it except to say how incredibly blessed I feel to be a part of a house where Jesus, love, and crazy reign supreme. No really, we might actually be insane but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
At the beginning of the school year, we wanted to host something to make sure that everyone would feel welcome at our house. Any time, every day, no matter what. So obviously we had a rave. Complete with hundreds of glowsticks, a fully loaded sound system, a strobe light, a blow-up shark, and glow-in-the-dark punch (also known as Mountain Dew), our living room was jam-packed with a ridiculous amount of people, some of whom had just walked in off the street—hilarious and awesome. It was the perfect picture of our house. Now we’re working on plans to turn our basement into a fully functioning night club. Stay tuned!