One of the most comforting sounds to me on a winter morning is that of the furnace kicking on. I feel taken care of.
In Tennessee, I lived in an old house built in the 1950s around the corner from “the projects”. My windows were single pane, the walls varied from room to room between cracked drywall and wood panel painted olive green hiding crumbling plaster that tumbled loudly to the ground if I bumped against it too hard. The floors were swollen rolling hills under rusty-orange vinyl.
The fireplace in the living room had been bricked in and painted shut two decades earlier. (But I apparently still thought it was cute enough to use up film on it. 
) The only room with heat was the kitchen. I froze many, many nights in my bedroom when icy air penetrated the thin windows and pierced my multiple layers of old blankets. Oh, how I froze!
I felt so broke back then, but my thriftiness broke down after several freezing weeks and I bought a portable shop heater at Wal-Mart. Heat, glorious heat. The unit cost me just over $20 and I couldn’t believe I had gone as long as I did without heat because of my perceptions about how expensive it was! #wortheverypenny
Today, I live at 6200 feet elevation on a mountain with frigid winds. My house has triple-pane windows, two working gas fireplaces, and TWO furnaces! I’m so grateful for heat. 
(Maybe a little obsessed with it.)
Every autumn and wintry morning, I wake up, listen for the sound of the furnace kicking on, and contentedly snuggle into my blanket before getting up for the day. I guess it has become part of my daily prayer of thanksgiving.