homemade

I do not think I was born with a natural bent toward domesticity- whatever that word actually means in real life.  For example, I do not know how to iron and usually do one of two things when wrinkles become a problem: throw the clothes in the dryer or wait for my mom to come into town and rescue the situation (thank goodness my husband wears scrubs for his job).  I have never stuck with a meal planning system for more than three days in my life, and my laundry routine is, at best, sporadic.  We are not above pulling clean clothes from unfolded baskets—who am I kidding, I am not above pulling sports bras from dirty baskets, but I do draw the line there, in case there was any question.  Ninety-percent of our furniture is a hand-me-down, so our house is a big collection of tattered and unmatched pieces.

But this is our home.  And gosh, we love it.

I am an easily excitable person, and it would take me no less than five minutes to list all the things I wouldn’t mind dabbling in when I grow up.  I love new subjects, new hobbies, new passions, new service opportunities, and there is no end to the love I have for coffee dates and girls’ nights.  Like so many of you, I can fill up our schedule with a lot of good things and it wouldn’t be hard to do.

But lately, even in the midst of God’s stirring and an unrelenting desire to be a part of his kingdom work, my heart has been drawn back home, to my home, to my three people and our hodge-podge furniture.

My sweet daughter is almost two, and she is acting every bit the part.  Independent, strong-willed, funny, testing boundaries and needing guidance and discipline and love and snuggles every single day.  My son is six-months old, pushing his little arms up so high and kick, kick, kicking his feet as he watches his sister run and play and do all the things I know he is dying to try with her.  And my husband is in the thick of his last semester of nursing school, up until midnight studying at our big kitchen table and back up with the sun with his Bible open.  And me, even as I pursue life-giving and God-inspired dreams, I am realizing more and more each day that of all the things I want to do, see, know, and experience in this world, these three people and their lives are my most important work.  I don’t want to miss it, miss them, miss the opportunity to make a space for them that is a refuge, a place they want to be because love and homemade pizza abound. 

I know God is so very intentional with us.  Our time and places are not an accident, and neither are our passions and dreams.  We were made to do kingdom work, to struggle for justice, to show the watching world a Savior who is alive and well.  We will feel discontent until we find our role in that kind of work, I really believe that.  But… our marriages, our homes, our people, our first place; those are the things that will keep our hearts burning for the right kind of work because they are the best kind of work.  Let’s never neglect the best for the good.  I think even the worst homemakers among us (that would be me) can do this.  We can ask God for the capacity to have a life’s work that includes world-changing endeavors and couch-snuggling bedtime stories.  With our eyes on Jesus, both can have our best.