On The Home Front

I've been pondering the metaphor of a woman and her home.

My home is as much a part of me and who I am, as a car and a job is to a man. You know, the beefy farmer type who drives around in a monstrous pickup. The slick ladies' man in sales who drives a sports car. Or the retired guy in a red Camero. Or a green, inner city musician who drives a Zap. ;)

I never felt "at home" in our McMansion. It was too impressive. My furniture looked out of place, like it was putting on airs. I liked it, but it never felt like my house, you know?

This house suits me well. It has good bones. It has enough bedrooms. It has plenty of room for the kids and our animals. Well, 10 acres would be nice, and a barn, but we're making it work. It's over 30 years old, though, and a bit dated. It needs some new paint, and some maintenance. The pipes are rotting through and need to be replaced. The kitchen is very dark. So is the entryway. Chimney needs work. The carpet really must go. There's beige carpet in the dining room and pink carpet throughout the rest of the house. We bought some laminate wood flooring at Costco on sale, but need to install it. The windows all need to be replaced. We've gotten one almost finished. The sprinklers in the yard don't work, so I can't plant anything. Keeping the garden watered was very difficult this summer. It either didn't get watered or I'd forget to turn the water off. In my mind I see a bubbling pond with gold fish, and roses and yarrow and butterfly bushes, and lots of pansies. But my eyes see a murky pond still not edged in rock, and weeds.

It depresses me to go into the kitchen and think of all the things that could be done to cheer it up and make it a happy place. The cabinets are sturdy, but so dark. The floor has a big hole in it covered with a non-matching piece of vinyl that is stapled down. It's got pink paint drips on it, and cuts and stains that won't mop out.

I don't like being in there.

It's not "me". It's not "cheerful".

(Can you tell I'm visual?)

Last night, Hubby and I were discussing whether we should tear out the old cabinets and put new ones in, and move the sink over here, and move the ovens over there, or just repaint the cupboards and call it good. We decided it would be best to just paint. I went to bed with visions of fresh white cupboards with little glass knobs dancing in my head, with walls painted sulfur yellow, and blue-and-white curtains in the window. A built-in island painted sage green, with a round sink in it and a butcher block top.

I woke up, well, cheered (more so after a cup of coffee and some yogurt).

I felt so happy just knowing that we would give the kitchen the attention that it needed to be it's best. It doesn't have to be somebody else's best, just its own.

And I realized that I need a little coat of paint here and there. I need some maintenance. I even need some renovation, but mostly I just need maintenance.

I yearn for paint in my kitchen because it feeds my soul. My soul wants to beautify where I live. Anywhere. Not just This House, but Any house I live in. It wants it's surroundings to express who I am. Maintaining my house in turn maintains my soul.

If my house is a disorganized mess, I feel disorganized and messy. If the house feels dark and cold, I feel dark and cold. If my house is neglected, I feel neglected.

I'm not saying that my house is my God. It's just a vehicle for my soul like a car or a job is a vehicle for a man's soul. A man in a dead-end, unfulfilled job is very dissatisfied. I think it's the same with a woman, only with her house. Just like our body is the vehicle for our spirit. They all need to be taken care of.

For three years I've been cooking under low cabinets. Just before Thanksgiving, Hubby and the boys installed the vent hood. What A Difference! It felt much like pain meds for a broken bone. I felt physically relieved.

How much is Creation God's vehicle? How much are We? And what kind of fuel do we need for our vehicles from God that we can't get from houses or cars? Is it really houses and cars or is it work? (My job as a woman is my home...)