home inspiration


Beatrice’s latest cutting, so simple and pretty.

Where do you get your homemaking inspiration from? And by homemaking, I do not mean home renovating or home perfecting. If ever a generation of women has been inundated with perfect images of what a home should be, it is surely ours. It can be overwhelming.

While I certainly have my hopes and plans for improvements here, and keep a list and a few pinterest boards of ideas, those things are sometimes a bit far off. Meanwhile, we’re living here today, and this is my opportunity to make home.

I don’t always feel it, though. Sometimes I just get tired out and it’s so easy to just settle into a rut. And that “sometimes” gets more and more frequent, as I find I must actually make time for cultivating a home environment that comforts and nurtures and functions and inspires.

So I look for regular boosts of inspiration — and I often find it on the pages of children’s books! We gave Fiona a couple of Angelina Ballerina books for Easter, and I am in love with her home. Warm, inviting, pretty, full of the things they actually use, and even — quelle horreur! — signs of being lived in. I also have foxglove envy, if I’m honest. Ha!

What inspires you? Don’t get weighed down by unrealistic expectations or images that don’t really suit you and your family culture. Ask who God made you to be, and what qualities you can cultivate simply through creative care of your home. If you’d love to read and learn more about the subject, I highly recommend Edith Schaeffer’s The Hidden Art of Homemaking.

I need Thee every hour

This picture makes me laugh. So much personality in this split second, which, now that I think about it, is consistent with every other split second of my life: SO MUCH personality.

My house is full of people, not just kids. People. And some of them are 18 month old babies determined to make a statement and show me who’s boss, while others are nearly my height and beginning to straddle childhood and mature responsibility.

My head spins. It really does.

And there are moments of calm, but here’s the thing: I can’t just go into survival mode between those moments, because my real, actual life and their real, actual lives are being lived all the time. I love sitting at my picnic table for a few minutes, just listening to the birds, but God hasn’t really called me to be a bird-listener. He’s called me to mother these children. The often loud, sometimes chaotic, always active, full to overflowing life is where I’m to pour myself out.

And I am a leaky bucket.

I try to create systems and patterns and habits that keep us all moving together in harmony, but it’s easy for me to go into autopilot, never stopping to notice how I’m not really heeding the admonition to be filled with the Holy Spirit — or be being filled, which I learned is a more accurate translation. Constant, never stopping. Because our hearts are leaky vessels and we always need more of Him. He gives me wisdom and strategy, but He wants to be with me in each moment as we flesh it all out. I need Him. So much and so much more.

These are my thoughts tonight.

chats with Beattie

I’ve been stitching the last bits of decoration onto costumes for the upcoming musical, and yesterday as Beatrice and I sat, her working on an embroidery project, me sewing another band of gold ribbon, she said,

“You don’t sew very much anymore, do you, Mama? That’s kind of true, isn’t it?”

I smiled. “Yes, that’s true. Not very much. I have five children, you know!”

“Yes, Cecily is number five and she keeps you very busy.”

Thoughtful pause.

“But that’s good that you’re very busy, Mama, because that means you are always taking care of your children.”

Heart melt and attitude check all in one instant. Out of the mouth of this babe comes the sweetest encouragement, and the startling reminder of how I am shaping her value system and ideology by my example.

She sees that I’m busier than ever with the care of these beautiful children. Does she see that it brings me joy, and that my service is prompted by sacrificial love? I pray so.

life and peace.

I think so often about being the one in my home responsible for setting tone, atmosphere, soul-aroma. Like it or not, that’s who I am as the wife and Mama. (And if I go on strike, that action has its own aroma. Or stench.) This home culture — it’s my domain.

I’m painfully aware of how often my heart is churning out fumes of annoyance, frustration, worry, anger, envy, discontent, judgment… Need I go on? Ugly. Poisonous. If our eyes could see the thick black smog those things produced, wouldn’t we just be horrified?

So I am continually crying out to the Lord to continue to do in me a deep heart-change, not just for my own sake, but for the sake of those breathing in my soul-fumes!

And oh my, is He ever. Such a deep down, turning things upside down, helping me to get it kind of work.

Rest. Peace. Work. Grace. It is finished. These are the themes that suddenly are everywhere, grabbing my attention, showing me clearly my brokenness, illuminating a path of freedom. Old patterns, dyed-in-the-wool weaknesses, things I’ve limped along with and thought maybe I’d just get better at limping — He’s able to address it all and make me brand new. That in and of itself is life giving. Wow.

This week’s verse for meditation is Romans 8:6, and oh, how it has struck me in a whole new way.

“For the mind set on the flesh is death, but the mind set on the Spirit is life and peace.”

What does that mean?

It means that when our mindset is one of “do good, earn favor; do wrong, you’re a failure,” we are living under a construct that can only mean death. We can never do enough good. I will live my whole life under pressure that will never let up; I can never satisfy the gaping void between my best (and I’m rarely at my best!) and the holy God whose approval my soul craves! And that pressure breeds anxiety, stress, anger, resentment, envy, jealousy, pride, insecurity, hatred, selfishness… Death.

When my mind is set on the flesh, and we don’t have a “good” school day, the poisonous fumes of failure are the result.

BUT.

But.

In Christ, there is the most beautiful but.

When my mind is set on the Spirit, I realize that my worth is found in Christ. The deepest things my soul craves and is tempted to prove through my best efforts — value, meaning, goodness — are fully satisfied in the Cross. That to-do list is completely crossed off.

Done.

And now, I wake up and work and do my best each day as wife and mother because it’s the work my Loving Father has given me — not with an underlying drive of needing to finish, complete, perfect, produce.

The fragrance of that is life and peace.

I love the smell of a good scented candle, of freshly baked bread, and just-shampooed babies wrapped in clean towels — but the homiest fragrance I can bring to my family is the one that comes when my mind is set on the Spirit, and I am working to bless, not to prove.

For more great insight into Romans, the law, and the Spirit, listen here.

building my house

It feels like yesterday that I wrote this post about laying foundations, the first step in a wise woman’s quest to build her house.

And, pinch me, but I’m already seeing strength rising up where there was a deep muddy chasm only a few years ago. It’s pretty amazing. Little things: I put dirty clothes through the cycles of washer and dryer, and then TA-DA!, it’s folded and on my dresser the next morning. I make dinner, serve it, and then sit on a couch to read a book with Fiona while the kitchen is put back together. I say, “Oh dear, Daddy is coming home right now!”, and the ten minute scurry that ensues actually results in a tidy home — usually while I just continue to cook the dinner or mind the baby.

Today, I noticed it after lunch. I picked up a book and the baby and said, “Finish lunch, clean up, get each other dressed, and go out to play. I’m going to go lay Cecily down for a nap.”

I sat in the armchair in my bedroom and snuggled the baby, while snippets of laughter and song and conversation — always so much conversation! — wafted through the closed door from kitchen. She fell asleep, I laid her down. Walking down the hallway, I paused. I heard William singing happily, “God’s not dead, No!,” while his sisters laughed and tried to sing along. Swish, swish, the sound of snow pants, and then quiet. A few minutes later, I saw the foursome parade through the snow, smiling and running.

(They are the most joyful children. I am struck by that almost daily, challenged by it.)

I finished showering and dressing, and came out to the kitchen. It’s not quite perfect — four pairs of shoes helter-skelter, wherever the wearer happened to kick them off, down the center of the kitchen. But it’s pretty close. Amazingly close.

Just a little moment, but fruit. They are growing in work and ability, in love and care for one another, and I sometimes get to just sit, watch, and marvel.

I matched those little shoes with a smile.

connecting our work to His

This afternoon, as the clear sun streamed in our windows, warming us despite cold outdoor temperatures, I looked up from my book to see little Cecily sitting, smiling at me.

My heart melted.

I had just been reading about work: about how God is the Master Craftsman, so to speak, and made in His image, we also are made to work. After looking for awhile at Genesis and the model set forth by God and then Adam, the author said, “So whether splicing a gene or doing brain surgery or collecting the rubbish or painting a picture, our work further develops, maintains, or repairs the fabric of the world. In this way, we connect our work to God’s work.”

That thought fresh in mind, I looked into sweet blue eyes. And I was struck again by what a rich calling motherhood is. For each time I do something as basic and “insignificant” as wiping this baby’s nose or changing this baby’s diaper, I am:

Investing in the development of this person. Her sense of value and worth is strengthened each time I cheerfully and gently attend to her needs.

Maintaining in a very real way this person. Sometimes it occurs to me, Where would these children be without someone to wipe noses and put on clean diapers? I am here, standing between them and disease and disorder.

This embracing of my calling is my part of redemption. In a world of brokenness where mothers sacrifice children for all sorts of things, even to the point of death, I am living out redemption — sin, repentance, grace, and all.

And that’s just changing diapers!

How much we are doing, dear mothers. We are an extension of the Kingdom of Heaven, touching lives. Don’t despise the mundane, the insignificant, the seed dead in the ground-ness of it all. See your work for what it is. And in this way, “connect [your] work to God’s work.”