How to Make a Home
Sometimes in the middle of the night, her hip would graze his and his arm would find her waist and she would lay awake in the middle of their life.
She didn’t know what would come next and how it all would unfold, but that new mercies always would.
He made it simple. Raising, teaching, the children, wasn’t.
And the meals she always had to keep figuring out, and the laundry that toppled over, and the floors that kept growing mess. The way her mind and heart would wander, crumble at the edges, and she would reach for steadying in her Maker. The way she’d get lost– and remember to breathe. But this, this making of a family, it was not a calling to dismiss but a calling to make disciples.
A calling, that which keeps calling you and you never stop listening for, that is what a calling is, the way He keeps speaking: “This is the way, walk in it.”
So she made soup and matched socks. She scrubbed out the tub. She awoke: One always gets to decide what is mindless work and what is soulful work.
She would decide.
She decided for art, to make her life art. She would make it all art — it all would be art, worship, a gift back. It all would preach Gospel.
And he, he too had these simple ways that steadied her, there in the dark, always in her dark. The way that he talked and moved his hands and worked and held her: he knew how to keep it simple.
In the midst of everything that went wrong, that was all. They would see everything as the ugly beautiful — because Christ is redeeming everything.
She would light candles. She would murmur thanks.
She would touch him often and gently.
And there would be that:
The best place to make a home is in the state of amazing grace.