‘Home, the spot of earth supremely best,
a dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.”
R. Montgomery
Shuffling back through the snow-melting-into-rain covered driveway, we pushed open the door to our home and six pairs of muddy-covered boots plodded onto the doormat.
Mud immediately fell to the floor. Puddles began forming as the ice melted from the warmth of the house.
Little fingers pulled off red winter coats and dragged their soggy mittens-on-strings to hang on the white coat hooks in the laundry room.
I looked around and sighed – I was *SO* very glad to be home … home is my haven. As a family, we had woken up in an early flurry of activity and had left the home by 8:30 a.m. And much to many mother’s pleasure, the house was left in an extremely tidy state. Honestly, it was so lovely and clean and tidy. Floors shone. Mantles and pianos were dusted. Laundry was tucked away. Beds were made. And I looked around at this very, lovely, clean, everything-in-it’s-place home and I realized something was amiss.
The house felt and looked unused.
And unloved. And just … hollow and empty. It was – dare I say it – boring.
Do not misunderstand me – I most certainly do appreciate a tidy, clean home.
Like most mothers and wives and women in general, having a house that is well-kept is important to me. And I personally find joy – true joy – in house cleaning…I used to clean houses as a side job when I was 13 years old and then later, my father hired me to clean out apartments where his employees had stayed while building. And as a young girl, I even said if there was a house fire, I’d probably save our family vacuum before I saved anything else. I loved [love] cleaning.
But perhaps it is the act of cleaning that I love… or the fact that you can see your job being accomplished right before your eyes, or maybe it is knowing why are you cleaning – a home full of children, a family, a life, a story being told … these are where the messes are coming from.
But on this one Saturday … this super clean house seemed lonely.
It needed some life put back into it.
The day drugged on … it just was too quiet. I pulled out some bed sheets from the upstairs closet … and it was only a mater of time before we had certainly made a house a home again -in a matter of speaking.
Large tents and ‘bunny homes’ were set up.
A miniature clothesline was strung between doorway and tent. Tiny doll clothes were pinned on from their ‘washing.’
Little girls pretended to be mice, bunny rabbits snuggly in hollows …
{yes, we even changed into p.j.s because wanted to be super comfy…}
Little girls played and imagined …
and there were backyard chickens that needed feeding …
and warm tea that needed drinking …
and as this happy, cluttered noise slowly started filling the home, I saw the joy of a happy mess return.
I am thankful for the reason behind the need to vacuum four times a day. And I am grateful for the washing machine that never seems to shut off. And for the groceries that are always being eaten. And the seven beds that need to be made each morning. And the piles of laundry that always need folding. And for the well used homeschooling books that fill up a dining room hutch. And the heirloom piano constantly being played.
Lord, thank you for this glorious, joy-filled mess.
To me, it is home.
by Gigi
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