I know it doesn’t have to be me. It could be someone else—a paid housekeeper, a spouse, or children trained to do the work of meal preparation and cleaning, but it’s me.
Someone must keep the home. It might not be you, but it must be someone. Maybe it could be you.
As it turns out, I love it. It’s sacred and blessed. It enlarges me, and I’m thankful for the daily work of it. When I’m not working in the classroom or involved in ministry settings, I’m here at home. It’s richly blessed.
Today, for example, I loved the smell of fresh thyme in the chicken and corn chowder I made for a recovering neighbor. It simmered all day, fragrant and warm as the bitter wind blew against the house. I loved chopping bacon for the spicy bacon vinaigrette on the salad we’ll have with dinner.
I loved noticing how blackberries look against fresh cut pineapple in the fruit salad.
I loved the smell of fresh laundry. I loved folding each load and moving on to more tasks.
I loved wiping counters and then the warm dishwater on my hands.
You don’t ever sit down; someone or something needs your attention: a cat to feed, a floor to sweep or scrub, the next meal to plan, a table to set, an activity for the family to enjoy, or someone needing a ride.
Everyone and everything scatters throughout the day, but the one keeping the home eventually gathers it all back together to nourish and comfort in the predictable rhythms of eating dinner, resetting the home, turning down beds, and extinguishing candles.
Sometimes we’re taught to resent the work of keeping a home, but more and more, I find the work is good and peaceful.