Home

My 4-year-old is on a rhyming spree. She come up with random little couplets, and repeats them for several days. Usually, they involve a sibling or an animal; for example:

"No!" said the pig who was wearing a wig.

"No!" said the cat who was wearing a hat.

Fun and silly, we get a good laugh out of them.

The other day, she was in a rhyming mood again, and started spinning a long, rather elaborate poem while playing in the other room. I was only able to really hear the end of it, when she walked into the room where I was working.

"...and then you're home, and your home is a poem."

My first reaction was, "That is such a good rhyme! And such a sweet sentiment!"

But the phrase stuck with me. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it's not just 'sweetness'. Sweetness is splitting a cookie with a friend. This goes much deeper than that; it's giving your friend the whole cookie. 

I started asking myself, "Is my home a poem?" I sometimes want a Thomas Kinkade home: vines climbing up the side, warm firelight shining out through the windows, the countryside blooming all around... some would say that that is poetic. I will probably never have a house that fits that description. But how do vines and a fireplace make a home anyway? Or matching furniture? Or retro flea market finds? I'm asking myself the wrong questions. This is what I should be asking: Do I lose my patience and raise my voice too often? Do I overly criticize my children? Do I praise them, hug them, and kiss them enough? Do I make judgments and hold grudges? 

The reality is that I cannot give my children a farm, or a beautiful large backyard, with a pony, playset, and tree house. They will never have individual bedrooms, or designer bedroom sets (I haven't even put curtains up in their rooms yet!) But we have a home. It may not look impressive, but it is a home. We play board games and hide-n-seek in the dark. We read books and eat dinner together. Our garden is not professionally done, but the children are right by my side, digging the holes and pulling the weeds. We don't have satellite TV (or cable), but the kids look forward to 'Saturday Morning Cartoons' with their dad. It's easy for me to get distracted when I start comparing my family to what other families do or have, but I can make up for anything 'lacking' by knowing that to be a homemaker is a calling. If I strive to love my children for whom God made them to be, and not let busy schedules, worldly standards, or my own sinful nature get in the way, my home will be a sanctuary. If I am a  peacemaker, and teach my children to be the same (my husband and I never allow teasing or 'sibling rivalry'), my home will be a haven. If I build traditions, like half-cakes on half-birthdays and advent stockings, and decorate my walls with my children's art, and stay on top of the cleaning (yes, this is important too!), my home will be a place where my family wants be. Then, my home will be a poem.

Where every member is perfectly loved

Where every member feels safe and secure

Where every member knows he belongs

Where everyone feels joy and peace

Where a family wants to be together

Where a family wants to be

This is home