“She watches over the affairs of her householdand does not eat the bread of idleness.”
– Proverbs 31:27 BSB
In the early days of our marriage, John and I watched The Untouchables, the Prohibition-era thriller about crime boss Al Capone (Robert De Niro) and Prohibition agent Eliot Ness (Kevin Costner). The only thing I remember about the film is that I hated the violence–and one scene where Ness calls home to his wife. After getting off the telephone, he says to the other men in the room, “Some part of the world still cares what color the kitchen is.” I identified with that line, and never forgot it.
I got a lot of pushback from some fellow moms over my encouragement for people (especially mothers) to stop reading the Epstein Files. One commented that I was the kind of person who would simply sit and pray and hope Goliath would stop killing the Philistines. In a way, she was right. And this goes for my role and perspective toward all of the evils of this world. I am mama bear, the Keeper of My Home, and I will learn about the evils that are coming at my family–from dangers online, to the corrupt food industry, to the dangers of trafficking. I will learn just enough about these evils to know how to best keep my family safe–and no more. I will learn just enough, and I will pray.
Not because I don’t want these evils stopped–I do. But I will not be the one on the front lines tackling criminals to the ground, tracking down traffickers in the night, or fighting court battles. Some women do, and I am grateful for the females who are there to help other women and children in these vulnerable situations. Social workers, doctors, nurses, and others who step in to provide much needed care. But that is not my personal calling. I am a wife and homeschooling mother. For me to pour over the perverse, violent details of these crimes would do nothing to advance the cause of justice. What it would do is waste my precious time, numb my mind to evil, and fill my thoughts with grotesque images, where it should filled with beauty–beauty that I want to bestow on the lives of my children.
“I want you to be wise about what is goodand innocent about what is evil.”-Romans 16:19
Having our home and family as our first priority does not mean we stop caring about the anyone outside our family, or stop supporting the cause of justice and the defense of the helpless. God tells us to do this, and we can, through contacting our Representatives, donating to organizations that work to end injustice, signing petitions, participating in peaceful marches, volunteering at women’s shelters or pregnancy centers, fostering, adopting, or being a temporary safe home for children, and by showing hospitality. These are far more useful ways of impacting our communities and world for good than going down endless rabbit holes reading of the evils of this world.
“She opens her arms to the poorand reaches out her hands to the needy.”-Proverbs 31:20 BSB
The other accusation against women who don’t want to read all of the Epstein Files, or be fully informed about every evil going on in the world, is that we’re being like an ostrich with our heads in the sand, pretending none of the evil is happening. I hope you can see that’s not true. I am NOT pretending evil does not exist in this world. It is because of the evils of this world that I take my job as homemaker so very seriously. It is because of the evils of this world that I want to guard my mind and heart. It is because of the evils of this world that I understand the importance of my home being a haven for my family.
It’s okay to care about the of color the kitchen walls. It’s okay to want to make a tasty dinner. It’s okay to spend time finding the best books for your children. The reason Eliot Ness was out there fighting evil was so that his wife and children, and other women and children, could be safe at home–the home that his wife was turning into a delightful place to be. Why do the police, soldiers, doctors and others do what they do, but so that we can be safe at home? Why do many of our husbands go out to face the world every day, but so that we don’t have to, and so that we can be keepers of our homes, able to raise our children with purpose? They protect those at home. And it is our jobs as wives, mothers, and homemakers to make home what it is. After all, if no one is there caring about anything–from the color of the walls, to the books on the shelves, to what is going to be on the dinner table tonight–then what is there worth coming home to? And if you’re not going to do it, who will? I can’t overemphasis the importance of the job. There is no shame in our trying to create a place that is cozy, welcoming, inspiring, nourishing, attractive, and clean. To our families, and society as a whole, the haven of home is almost everything.
“A housewife’s work . . . is surely in reality the most important work in the world. What do ships, railways, miners, cars, government etc. exist for except that people may be fed, warmed, and safe in their own homes?”-C. S. Lewis
“To be happy at home is the end of all human endeavor.”-Dr. Johnson
Yes, we can get so wrapped up in creating the perfect décor and appearance of beauty that we neglect building inward, true beauty in our lives and the lives of our families. For what is home primarily, but the garden where we grow and nurture the children God has put into our care, with the most important lesson being to know Him. Filling our minds and time with fluff is a problem, too. We need to be on guard on every side. If our present calling is to be wives, mothers, or homemakers, then we should do that job with all of our heart–and that might just involve caring about the color of the kitchen walls.
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Nearly passed right by those handsome features, noble mien, and that shock of dark hair falling becomingly over his forehead.
You’d think I’d have been on the lookout. Kept my eyes peeled wide open.
I was in his house, after all.
Pemberley. Or, em, Chatsworth, which is what the place is really called. Chatsworth, not Pemberley, though it’s quite the grandest house in all of Derbyshire, and most certainly the place Jane Austen had in mind for this favourite literary hero, if the experts have it right.
Yes, there I was, at Pemberley, and I nearly missed my chance to meet Mr. Darcy because I had my eyes on the gift shop. The gift shop. Coasters and tea towels, and things like that.
But John called my name, and I swung round
and there he was.
Just waiting.
He even posed for a picture.
“But that’s not the real Mr. Darcy!” you may be muttering, or even shouting at the screen.
Well, I was at the other Mr. Darcy’s house too (Lyme Hall in Cheshire)! BBC fans, you may now breathe a sigh of relief.
Only there, I didn’t see him.
Though I did see this fair prospect . . .
I laugh a little now.
I almost didn’t see Mr. Darcy!
And oh, doesn’t it seem just a world away.
Not only that we’re in America and can’t just pop down to England to see Elizabeth and Darcy and all our other favourites like we did when we lived in Scotland.
But even having time to think about it all. To dream.
Finding time to put two of my own thoughts together seems like a luxury these days, what with all the loving I’m blessed to pour out on my three precious little men and their daddy.
The making of tea and the making of beds. The raiding of the kitchen and the cleaning it up. The folding and folding and folding of laundry, and the trying to find the time to put it away. The potty accidents to clean up, the littlest one to pick up, and the trying to look above and through it all to find just what gifts there are in today.
But it’s worth it, I’d say.
Worth taking time for stories.
Worth taking time to be still and (with a cup of tea!) examine and consider the finer, the truly beautiful and good.
And it’s worth, most of all, taking time to be with Him.
To be with Jesus.
How many times do I race through my day with my eyes on the gift shop? On running my errands, making my phone calls, and leaving my house at least as clean as it was that morning?
But how would it be if I took more time to look for treasures along the way?
To realize there is someone far nobler, realer, and more beautiful than even Mr. Darcy?
Someone who’s not just waiting, but knocking.
Knocking at my door, knocking on my heart,
and not just to pause for a picture,
but to spend the day with me.
JEREMIAH 29:13
You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart.
Avonlea x
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Usually it was fish and chips that they offered to bring. Crispy battered haddock and thick-cut fries doused with vinegar and a sprinkling of salt, picked up from the Chippy on their way over.
I’d start to tidy, but would remind myself not to worry too much. Just a quick wipe of the bathrooms, and a fresh hand towel (one of my personal hospitality must-do’s) would suffice.
There wasn’t much point in frantically scooping Lego into toy bins or straightening out the sofa cushions. Our friends did, after all, have three little boys who’d be joining our two (at that time), and I knew I could expect the five of them to make quick work of emptying the wicker toy basket and turning the sofa into a pirate ship.
After the ketchup-soaked fish and chip papers had been cleared away and the children were in the other room hard at play, the adults would gather round the dining room table, within ear shot of the littles in case someone got a bump, or there was a lesson on sharing that needed to be learned.
There’d be coffee then, or tea, and some little nibbles, and the stresses of life would dissipate as we talked and shared, the fire crackling at our backs. They’d stay past bedtime, but we didn’t mind.
They were our last-minute friends. The spontaneous ones. And we loved it.
We loved it, and it went both ways.
I remember phoning once, on our way home from a day of picnicking and wading in the rock pools of St Andrews. And we were invited to “tea” (the evening meal in many parts of Scotland).
There were probably toys everywhere. Crumbs on the floor. Some sprinkles on the toilet seat. But I don’t remember.
I remember the lamb chops smothered in curry paste, the homemade sweet potato chips sprinkled with salt and hot pepper seeds. I remember Mary’s smile. I remember there was cake.
Later on, Mary and I nursed cups of milky tea beside the patio doors while the men took the children into the cool autumn air to play on the trampoline. Two tired mamas, we talked, we laughed, we shared our hearts so that the other knew how to pray. We felt stronger. We knew love.
You see, a mama doesn’t mind it. Not one little bit.
Doesn’t mind balancing her cup of tea as she picks her way over the minefield of toys to make her way to your couch.
Doesn’t mind grabbing a wad of toilet roll to wipe sprinkles from your toilet seat.
Has selective vision when it comes to the pile of dishes in your sink.
She didn’t come to inspect your house. She didn’t come to give you extra work.
She came for the friendship. The laughter.
She came to see you.
Friendship and laughter bring sanity. Clarity. Helps us see that most of the chaos is normal, and we’re not the only ones going through it all.
God made us that way. To bear one another’s burdens. To celebrate together.
And I have to remind myself of this often–
that my desire is to bless, not impress.
Thatlaughter is made brighter, tears are made lighter when there’s cake.
Cake, and of course, a hot cup of tea.
And so even if you are a tired mama, don’t let this stop you from letting others into your house, especially if they are a tired mama, too.
Read If You Know A Tired Mama (how to love her) Part 1 & Part 2
Avonlea x
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She came one night with a raw chicken. I knew she’d be staying a while. And I welcomed her into the quiet of our little stone house.
John was away in London. Or Edinburgh, perhaps. And even with the woods and the beaches to walk, the days and nights grew long, just Baby and me.
Soon the oven warmed the kitchen, and the smells spread through the house. And she sat with me while I fed and changed him. Spoke with me, listened, like she’d nowhere else to go.
And when Baby was down, and our bellies were full, she sat a bit longer just to chat.
A few months on and we were headed south, leaving Inverness for the hills of Perthshire,
and she came back.
She and another friend, as if it were nothing.
They came with boxes, newspapers, and bags, and within a few days the house was wrapped and packed, and it was nothing I could have done on my own, not me and Baby, who climbed in and out of boxes, unpacking what I’d packed.
And I was grateful, oh so grateful, for their help.
But it was more than the job, of course, more than helping me move house.
It was also their time, their laughter, their there-ness
that spoke volumes to my tired mama heart.
Saying that, I loved the help.
Acts of service is a love language I so appreciate and understand.
But not every mama loves someone showing up with a dust rag and a mop.
An offer to help clean her house can make her feel inadequate. Like she’s failed as a homemaker and it’s clear to all the world that she’s drowning in laundry and dust.
So if you know a tired mama and you really want to love her,
first find out what kind of love* speaks to her tired mama heart.
If it’s Acts of Service, an offer to fold her laundry, wipe down the high chair, or wash her dishes will have her heart skip a happy little beat. And if you sit and chat with her while you do it, while she feeds the baby, she’ll appreciate it even more. Have a bit more time? Offer to sit with the children while she grocery shops solo. The sacrifice of your time and hard work will make her feel cared for more than anything else.
If it’s Quality Time, bring some muffins, just spend time with her, chaos and all. Or if you can, whisk her out for coffee and a chat. Or offer to join her on a trip to the park with the children. What this mama craves is your active presence. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, she just wants to see you and to build your friendship, whatever you do together.
If it’s Words of Affirmation, this mama needs encouragement, truth, and peace spoken into her life. Compliment her on her strengths, and what she’s doing right as a mother and wife. Tell her how you value her friendship. Remind her of God’s love for her, His child. If you can’t tell her in person, call or send a card.
If it’s Gifts, this mama would love you to turn up with a pot of soup and a loaf of bread. A bag of clothes that your little one has outgrown. A new diaper bag to replace hers, which is so worn out. Anything to let her know you were thinking of her. She probably wouldn’t turn down a gift certificate to her favourite restaurant or spa, but the price is not the issue. She’ll just be delighted to know you were thinking of her, whatever gift you bring.
If it’s Phyisical Touch, what this mama might need more anything else is a hug.
Being the mama (or daddy!) of little ones is not an easy task. Not a nine-to-five kind of job. It begins from the time we open our eyelids to the time we lay down our weary heads (and often continues through the night as well). We long to raise our children to be rich in faith, love, and good works, but such important work can seem overwhelming when running on such a little bit of sleep. So if there’s a tired mama in your life, find a way to help herbe the faithful wife and mama she so longs to be by showing her love in a way that will strengthen her and help her run strong.
Avonlea x
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Going from a big church to a small one is akin to moving from bustling New York City to the village of Avonlea on Prince Edward Island. Or so it seemed to me. After moving from Scotland, we spent our first 8 years in America at a mega-church. We loved the cookies and the coffee with flavored creamer pods. The choo-choo train in the nursery. The worship band. And how easily we could apply the teaching to our lives. But after 8 years of striving to find a steady small group, and volunteering weekly in Sunday School, we still hadn’t found our people. We made friends, but American life is busy, and distance made actually seeing those friends a problem. We longed for nearby friends. You know,kindred spirits. Friends you call last minute to join you for a walk in the woods, or a cup of tea on the porch. Friends who know you . . . and love you anyway.
Then Covid came, and our church closed. For quite some time. More than ever, we ached to share life with friends. So we started attending a small church. And fell in love. Here’s why . . .
1. Friendship – Some churches have the population of a small country. You could go months without speaking to anyone. Spend years giving a cheery smile and answering “Great! You?” when asked how you’re doing, even if you’re dying inside. At least that’s how it was for us. In some ways, it’s easier. But if you long for a place where you’re noticed, wanted, known, try a tiny church . . . Shortly after starting at our little church, we met two families who wonderfully, surprisingly, almost instantly, became an intimate part of our lives. Sarah and her husband and children, who live locally. And Ann and her husband and children, who were here for a year of aviation training before heading for the mission field. At first it was the children running circles together and playing tag in the church lawn, while the adults made small talk. But small talk at church quickly turned to invitations to Sunday lunch, then time together during the week.
“If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.”
– I Corinthians 12:26
2.Breaking Bread – In case you’re wondering, Church Picnics, Ice Cream Socials, and Pot Lucks are still going strong in many small churches. And yes, you might find meatloaf, casseroles, and Jello salad, if you’re lucky. But invitations for Sunday lunch or Saturday cook-outs are also not extinct. And we know eating together is about a lot more than putting food in our mouths. It’s about sharing our joys and burdens. Lightening each other’s loads with a listening ear and a hug . . . We “broke bread” with our new friends in the church hall, drinking hot cocoa after a drive to see the frozen waves of Lake Michigan. At picnic tables, before a hike in the woods to see the first green haze of spring. Under the stars, roasting s’mores and watching fireworks. On the porch, sipping coffee and talking about marriage, our children, the tough lessons God was teaching us. True friendships were built, and trust too, over refills of coffee and wiping our children’s sticky popsicle hands. With trust came the ability to speak honestly, bare our souls, and lift each other up. Life is so much sweeter when you don’t eat–or hurt, or laugh–alone.
“breaking bread from house to house, they were taking their meals together with gladness and sincerity of heart.”
– Acts 2:46
3. Finding Your Place – Big churches run on an army of volunteers, and we were blessed by the loving hands that served in our big church. But in a large congregation it can be intimidating to offer your services as a musician, Sunday School teacher, or small group leader, especially if you don’t consider yourself a semi-professional, or at least really cool. With our busy lives, having all the slots filled might feel like a good thing. But it also deprives us and our children the opportunity to serve . . . We soon found how useful we could all be at our little church, and what a blessing it was to serve alongside others. At Christmas we drove to the homes of those who couldn’t get out, singing carols and leaving cookies. In the spring my oldest sons and I cleaned the church windows while the two little boys helped the pastor heap mulch around newly planted petunias. On hot summer days, we hung out together at church with Sarah, Ann, and the pastor’s wife, crunching celery sticks and creating a Wild West town for Vacation Bible School. I started buying flavored creamer for Sunday morning coffee, and Sarah brought red and pink zinnias from her garden to brighten the women’s Sunday School. My oldest started to play cello for “special music.” The younger ones sang on stage and made cards to give out. And yes, the church needed cleaning, bulletins needed handed out, and people needed shown to their seats. No one did everything, but everyone did something. Our children learned that they, too, are a valuable part of the church family, and have something worth contributing to bless others. It’s so precious to know you belong.
“Spur one another on to love and good works.“
–Hebrews 10:24
If you find yourself in-between churches, or feeling alone, get connected to a truth-teaching local church. Yes, you could slip in and out without speaking to anyone–but this might be a challenge! Always choose to take this as friendly curiosity and a desire to welcome you in. For you are wanted, you are valued, you are needed. If you’re already part of a small church, make sure you warmly welcome newcomers in the warmest kind of way. Jesus would want you to.
Avonlea x
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Six fingernails. Only six. That’s how many I had time to cut that day, into short, blunt squares. The other four were left long and ladylike for a few days longer, until I noticed, and remembered that I’d been interrupted, called away from my task to see to the needs of one of my wee men.
And that’s how life’s been since the arrival of Little Bear, my fourth son. A sprinkle of time here, a sprinkle there, and not much more, for all the little extra things I love.
Those non-essentials that relax me and that I really enjoy, but that somehow don’t seem as pressing as cleaning up the raspberries someone smashed all over the kitchen floor, or icing a bleeding lip, or stopping someone from over-cuddling the baby.
Those non-essentials
like exfoliating with Dead Sea salt scrub.
Or watching a new version of Jane Eyre.
Or reading my Bible.
You know, extra, non-essential things like that.
And where can I possibly fit them into to my hectic life, when there isn’t even time for the essentials?
Like sleeping.
Or taking a trip to the bathroom.
Or drinking enough water.
How can I possibly find the time?
Four months, we’ve been back from our visit to Scotland. Four months, which is the same length of time we spent back there. And I meant to keep you abreast of it all, every visit, every city, every castle that we saw.
But the arrival of Little Bear, and traversing up and down the country, and the jumble that went on inside my own head made it difficult. But there are things, there are moments, I remember. And I’ll tell them, I’ll tell them to you, if you’ll stay with me and you’ll wait.
Because they’re worth the telling.
Like what I spotted in the new mud room at my friend Katie’s.
When we lived in Scotland I’d set aside time nearly every week to visit with Katie and a few other treasured friends at one or other of our houses. And they were sanity for me, those times, as I sat across from their smiling faces, corralling crumbs from my oat biscuit into a pile on the table top while I sipped my tea and we talked about life—children, husbands, our walk with God.
And I was there again at Katie’s house this winter. Sat at her table. Heard her laugh. Sipped my milky tea.
And yes, saw the new mudroom, with its tidy place for Wellington boots, jackets, mittens, and hats. And it was all quite something, but it wasn’t that which made me smile. Pause.
In a corner beneath a window, where the sun could lay a beam of light, sat a chair. A chair, and a little shelf in the wall just the size for a Bible, and a picture frame on the wall with this:
For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge;and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness;and to godliness, mutual affection; and to mutual affection, love.For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.
2 Peter 1:5-8
A place made in her home just for this. Just for reading God’s word, and speaking and listening to Him.
A place for making every effort.
Not a casual squeezing it in every few weeks when there’s a sprinkle of time, but a place. A purposeful seeking after Him. Every effort.
Because reading my Bible, knowing God, is not a non-essential after all. Not if I want to be like Christ. Not if I want to be for my family a refreshing stream, instead of the dried up desert that I so often feel.
His delight is in the law of the Lord, And in His law he meditates day and night. He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, Which yields its fruit in its season And its leaf does not wither; And in whatever he does, he prospers.
Psalm 1:2-3
I don’t have time aplenty. Not the luxurious hours to read and ponder that I once did. But if I’m to make the most of the time with my family, if I’m to help lead them in the everlasting way, then I must find the time to be in God’s Word, and find even a simple line of truth and goodness on which to meditate throughout my busy day.
Finding time will be a challenge. But my soul is dry, and I feel it. I feel it, and it shows. I feel it, and it’s worse, even, than only six short fingernails.
Make every effort.
I’ll start today.
How do you make time to be in the word? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
A castle is where I’d end up on days like today when we lived in Scotland. Days when the luminescent green earth called me outside for an adventure. Out to where pink-blossomed trees quivered in a gentle breeze and white fluffy clouds danced across a seamless blue sky.
As we’re sadly lacking for castles in Midwestern USA, I buckled the General, Waddlesworth, and Little Bear into the car, handed an apple to each of them, and headed off for a country drive through woods and rolling farmland in search of some Estate or Barn Sales. And did I find any? Certainly did.
I came home in possession of a light-up globe attached to a table. Some vintage curtains dotted with fishing, golf, and other manly pursuits, which I hope will one day become cushions or even a bean bag for my boys’ rooms. And books. Always books.
With my dose of sunshine and newly found treasures, and a day off from homeschooling due to my eldest being at a friend’s house, life looks good. I feel happy. Blessed.
Not so a fortnight or so ago, when I found myself tangled at the bottom of a slippery, murky, gnarly pit.
While my morning routines got my days started and gave me focus, by afternoon my positive, cheery mummy reserves were running dangerously low. After a long school day I wanted nothing more than to curl up with a mug of chai and watch Fixer Upper. Not face the whole make dinner/eat dinner/clean up after dinner/wrestle the kids to bed routine.
But my lack of motivation and feelings of despair came more from simply the exhaustion of raising four squirrelly little boys. It was more than the challenges of homeschooling. More than the difficulty of doing so much of it on my own since John has been working unusually long hours of late.
while I battled within the walls of my own home . . . it felt like the world around us was crumbling to pieces.
The problem was that while I battled within the walls of my own home, trying to give my children knowledge, feed them healthy meals, help them grow in faith, it felt like the world around us was crumbling to pieces. And what could a tired out mummy do about all that?
What was the point, really, in trying to make up my mind which shade of grey to paint the dining room, or doing anything else to bring loveliness to our home? Why search Pinterest for sugar-free dessert recipes? Why invest the energy in teaching the Professor about the injustices of segregation?
What, really, was the point of all my efforts, what with wars being raged, the American political scene making us all cringe (or cry!), and craziness like the recent Target bathroom/dressing room controversy leaving people up in arms.
What was happening to the world I would one day send my boys out into?
I was overtaken by a Spirit of Fear that left me nearly useless to the people in my life. And so one night, sitting in my bed with my pink and white polka-dot clad phone, I began to search for what God’s Word might have to say about all that.
What I found has changed my outlook 100%.
I read
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
Ephesions 2:10
And that has made all the difference.
As I Christian, I believe that God created me, his daughter, with great forethought and care. That He chose the date and place of my birth, this exact time in history, for a reason. That He gave me these sons to raise up and prepare for the good works He has for them to do. That he gave me this husband to be my partner in life, that we can be a mutual blessing and “spur one another on to love and good works” (Hebrews 10:24). That he gave me this home to be a haven for my family and all who enter here.
And so you see, the daily work I do with my sons, with my home, with the people I seek to care for in my community and across the globe, they are not meaningless at all. They are vitally important to those whose lives I touch. Important in eternal ways I may never see.
Our world may seem to be spinning into chaos. Our current political candidates may not seem worthy of the title of President. But our God in control. And he IS worthy in every way. He is all-wise, all-loving, all-powerful, and always present.
happy little sigh 