It’s been another year of neglecting this little blog space and another year where I forgot to cancel the hosting service. Whoops! So I guess it’s as good a time as any to start writing. I’m not quite sure what I wanted from creating this little space. It can be overwhelming trying to find your “niche” in the blogging world. I realized I don’t really have ONE. I’m a wife, a mother, a special needs parent. I dream of raising my babies on a farm (more on that another time) and cultivating a deep rooted family culture of faith and home. These are the things I like sharing. These are the things that underline my days. To encompass what I want from this little writing space, I think the main theme is home.
I’m writing this with a huge cup of coffee, surrounded by packed boxes while my children sleep surprisingly late this morning. We are in yet another season of transition as a family preparing for a big move buffered by a season where our family of 5 (yes, FIVE) will be living in a camper for a time. While this probably would have been a disaster 10 years ago, I feel pretty confident we are up with the adventure now.
“Home is where your stuff is.” I’ve said this for years. We moved quite a bit growing up and my husband and I have lived in 3 different states in our 12 years of marriage. Just a mindset of surrender to all the twists and turns life has taken over the years. However, I’ve been a homemaker most of my adult life now. As my grandma pointed out to me several years ago, this is distinctly different from a housewife. I can’t help but smile as I remember my grandma indignantly saying, “I am not a housewife. I am not married to my house. I am a homemaker.” Quite frankly, given my grandma’s explanation, I’m not quite sure what a housewife even is.
I’ve thought about that a lot over the years as I’ve grown into this role in my own family. What was it about my grandparents’ home that made what my grandma said to me a core memory? The best way I can describe it is when you walked into their house, regardless of where they lived, you could drop your shoulders. It reverberated throughout their entire place. You were welcome, you were loved, you were safe.
A home is something you intentionally cultivate. It is a practice in being a better spouse, parent, and friend. It is actively practicing hospitality (hello fellow introverts, why is this so hard?!). It’s a practice in learning to be vulnerable and giving people the benefit of the doubt.
It’s also a discipline in housework. It requires learning to be better organized and creating a rhythm that maintains order and cleanliness. I say all of this fully aware that these are not my strengths. If you could see my house right now, you’d be rolling your eyes even harder than you probably are right now. I am telling myself these things more than anyone else.
Home is basically a practice and discipline in everything that I’m bad at.
The main point is, I want first my family to feel that “drop your shoulders and inhale peace” air when they walk through these doors. Then I want that feeling for anyone else that comes into our sphere. I want that in our little camper we will be living in, and I want that in the home we will be building. I want to be a homemaker that makes people feel better after leaving the space I’ve cultivated. That they’ve had just a little break from the ups and downs of life, a little shelter from the storm. I want to cultivate a true home, and I want to write about it in a vulnerable way.
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