A little over a year ago our family was in the process of moving…again. This was the seventh move in just over eight years. But this time was different.
While we were in the process of getting the house ready to move into, the kiddos and I went ahead early in the week and hubby was going to be coming for the weekend. As I turned off the pavement and onto the gravel road, I felt within me a surge of emotion. I stopped the vehicle and snapped a picture to send to my husband with the caption “Home.” You see, we were moving into my grandparents’ house which was down the same little gravel road as only home I knew growing up.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t had “home” in the other houses we had lived in. Each was home in their own way. The trailer house we first lived in as newlyweds while we were still in college. It was home even with the rubber duckies in the middle of the floor where there were holes under the carpet. The house on Chadron Ave was home with its old-fashioned twist doorbell. The brick house with the purple kitchen in Colorado was home for 18 months. The brown rental back in Nebraska that we moved into when our oldest was only three weeks old was home even if it was only for four months. The big white farmhouse with the gorgeous shade trees, comfy hammock, and friendly goats was home. The little white house with the boxy rooms with the 50’s era yellow kitchen was home. And now the two toned green stucco house overlooking the river is home.
All of our homes were very different, but they were all home. They were all filled with memories—memories of making lifelong friends as we hosted Bible studies, of we roasted marshmallows in the fireplace with youth group kids and had to clean the gooey white stuff out of the carpet, or welcoming our first child, of holidays holidays celebrated, of milestones reached, of accepting hurting children into our home for short periods of time, of comforting each other as we grieved, of sharing meals together, or building life together.
Home isn’t about the style or layout or paint color or flooring choice in your home. Although those can add to the beauty, ultimately they are just the shell. Home is about the life within the four walls of that shell. And you, dear wife and mother, you have the great privilege and responsibility of making that home.
When we think about homemaking, we often focus on the cleaning and laundry and cooking that must be done to keep a household afloat. And while those things do have a place, and we do talk about them here, they don’t make a home.
In fact, homemaking is so much more than the everyday tasks. Homemaking is writing the story of a shared life with the ones God has entrusted to you. Homemaking is creating a space that breathes life into your family. A home is made by the attitudes and atmosphere set by those who live there. A home is made by the traditions kept and spontaneous fun. A home is made by the greetings every mornings and the tucking-ins at night. Homemaking is creating an atmosphere of unconditional love and encouragement. Homemaking is taking the space given to you and turning it into a hub of discipleship, refreshment, and growth.
When I turned onto that gravel road on the cloudy March day, I recognized that while I had made a home in so many other places, my heart would always cherish the place my parents had made home for me. How blessed I feel to be able to make our home right down the road from there! It also motivated me to create the home that would bless my family with those same memories to tuck away in their heart so they will always feel like this place is home.
Today I challenge you to think of the atmosphere you are building in your house. Are you making it a place the heart feels at home, or are you driving your family’s hearts away?
