“I just want to go home,” she said.
Something shifted inside me.
She wants to go home.
It’s not fancy. The carpet’s stained. Someone wrote the word gullible on the bathroom ceiling. It’s still there. Lots of stuff everywhere. Cleanliness hadn’t better be next to godliness because I ain’t on that train, sisters.
If I could pinpoint one thing that’s caused me to sin more than anything else —in word, deed, and thought—it’s probably my house.
I’m the “homemaker.” It’s my job to keep our home pleasant, presentable, and placid. When it’s none of these, I take it personally and shoulder the blame.
Many days, especially when the children were younger, my role felt pretty pathetic. Hours of seemingly empty tasks. Efforts poured with little positive feedback or reinforcement. What’s the point? I’ve said that a lot. I’ve also said this: If I weren’t here, the only difference would be a big pile of laundry and a sink full of dishes.
That’s sad, but it’s honest and a too often thought among mothers.
But, now, she wants to go home.
In reality, making a home involves so much more than folding T-shirts and cleaning plates. But we don’t see the import in the daily-ness. The work is draining. It’s exhausting, and for many of us, the process of creating a home pulls and stretches in very uncomfortable ways.
We’re weak and vulnerable, and the devil knows it. He slinks in and gives us messages we’re ripe to fall for: You’re kind of worthless. Your job is super pathetic.
He’s a liar.
My daughter broke her arm this weekend. Bad break. She needed surgery, pins, and me. She really, truly needed me. And, I thought to myself, this is home making. All of the stuff—the house stuff—is fine and good, but my role as mother is realized when my children need me. There’s no one else who can fill that role. No one’s hand she’d rather squeeze, or voice she’d have whisper, or feet she’d hear coming.
The daily stuff is like laying groundwork: folding laundry while talking about rain, letting them paint after I’d just cleaned the table, reading that book again, or playing in the snow when it’s the last thing on earth I want to do. Walking at her little leg pace when all I wanted to do was run. Letting her crack the eggs and flip pancakes and all those other things that she wouldn’t do as efficiently or well as I’d preferred. But, letting her do it all the same because that’s what mothers do.
All of these moments built into something beautiful.
An irreplaceable relationship.
After a night in the hospital, she wanted to go home. It’s more than appearance. Home is her place, our place, and it’s where God has established our family. He’s set claim over these walls.
Praise Jesus—He has redeemed us and our home despite my selfishness.
Praise Jesus—He’s opened my eyes and heart to the critical importance of the role He has carefully, thoughtfully placed me in.
And Praise Jesus‚—He will continue providing for and nourishing our family, creating fine treasures to do His work in love.
Word of the Day:
In the home of the wise are fine treasures …(Proverbs 21:20)
Prayer: Abba Father, you’ve entrusted us. Trusted us with them. Little people with precious souls. Please cover each mother with Your mercy. In the middle of mundane, grace us with vision of our holy calling. Help us see the unequivocal value in the work You’ve set before us. Strengthen the weary and drive each to the cross where we will find unquenchable fulfillment. Thank You for blessing and filling our homes with Your Precious Spirit. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Author: Melissa Bronson