Monday, February 28, 2011


The man on the other end of the line asked me what I do. After all the years, all the teaching, all the preaching, all the encouragement given by me to others, I answered, "Nothing. I'm a homemaker."

Implied in his question was, "What is your job?" -- as in profession, as in "making money" occupation. So I was not totally incorrect in my answer. But I immediately felt the need to rectify the implication of my sitting around on the couch watching TV and eating bonbons. I was a bit undone.

I contemplated and wondered. Did he hear the further, more subtle implication? I am a home-maker. I make a home. That is what I do.

I am currently spending some time with dear friends in Secaucus, NJ. They open their home for hospitality. She has made a home. It is not just a house with bedrooms and a snackbar. It is a home. They eat together at a dining room table. They spend time visiting with one another in the living room. They convene at day's end to discuss joint adventures or share individual experiences.

I make a home at 1942. I endeavor to create an atmosphere of safety, health, and creativity where nurture and care are expressed. Now granted, there are some seasons when the home front looks better and functions more efficiently than others. But all the same, it has been and continues to be my God-given task.

The words spoken this morning -- "I am a homemaker" -- echo in my mind and now in my heart, reminding me once again of the need to intentionally make homes. This is not a second rate occupation; it cannot be happenstance. It will not automatically occur with the signing of every lease or mortgage. It must be purposed and planned. It requires energy, time, effort, dedication, and commitment.

Home. Ah, yes. I love home. I love making home.

So here I am. Reminded. And I'm turning my heart toward home once again.