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Hestia was the Greek goddess of the hearth. She was not like her sisters Hera and Demeter, who liked to flit around and have their dramas. Hestia was a homebody. She stayed home. Always. She never married -- although she had her chances -- and she cared little for glory.
How little Hestia cared for glory became apparent when the gods were arguing about where to seat the the newly appointed god of wine, Dionysus. See, Mt. Olympus is no different from any other real estate market. It's all about location, location, location. The original twelve gods had their thrones, they liked where their thrones were, they liked the space between them, and they liked who they were sitting next to. They were like kids in a car. Every one of them was riding shotgun, and every one of them wanted to keep it that way.
Except Hestia. She was all, "Dude, take my throne. I don't care." She just moved on down to the hearth and sat there. It was easier to tend the fire anyway. Plus, she totally didn't have to deal with any of the politics or the blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. You know how long-winded the omnipotent can be.
The Greeks appreciated Hestia's modesty. Every home hearth was an altar to Hestia and was kept burning at all times. The first sacrifice of every day was made in her honor. Families knew: sometimes you need to give up your chair if you're going to keep the peace. Cities knew it too. When new colonies were formed, they lit the fire of their new town's central hearth with fire from their original town's central hearth. The hearth, the home, the willingness to sacrifice one's own comfort for the good of the tribe, were the very definitions of community.
Channel this goddess: When you're feeling lost, out of place, or rootless, when longing for the comforts of home, when someone takes your place on the couch, or when making smores!
Need a goddess: I got goddesses! Leave a comment in the comment section telling me what you need and I'll see what I can do.
In the meantime, keep those home fires burning.
