Can we just talk about that word for a minute? I’m sure it’s been talked about ad nauseam in some places, but I actually haven’t seen a real, honest conversation about it.
Home maker is a words that’s been extremely overused and also, completely undersold. Overused in the sense that it’s become a bit of a diss, or a dishonor to a certain segment of the population. While some wear it as a badge of pride as an honor, some others consider it a downgrade from their biggest hopes and dreams.
While truthfully, it’s fundamental to society. It’s a non negotiable. But maybe not like you think?
I mean, we’re all homemakers aren’t we? Homemakers or home-wreckers really. We all build our homes, a little at a time.
Home making much less to do with keeping house, in my mind, than it does with making a house a home- and someplace worth coming home to.
I consider myself a homemaker. I did before I had kids, when I worked full time, when I had kids and continued to work and even now as I work part time from home and full time managing those wonderful kids and many household tasks.
I also can look at other women around me and see that, even if they do it very differently than me, they are too. Full time working moms are homemakers. Part time working moms. Non moms. People, we are making a home where we are. Or are we?
(I’m considering as I write this whether to look up the definition of homemaker. But I fear it may be outdated or incorrect anyway. So I’m going to look around me first and see what being a homemaker looks like.)
My mom was a homemaker, even though she found herself a single mom and had to go work outside of the home. My mother-in-law was too, as she raised five boys, made the finest pies and kept the cleanest house. None of the details and tasks take away from the real truth of what each of them did. They both created a home out of love and time and the resources they had. They both made a home. (My mom also is an excellent pie baker, might I add. Even if I found out as an adult, making my first pie crust, that she didn’t make hers homemade like I thought. She does now though. Still, we all love.)
While I’m a pretty good pie maker myself, I’m definitely not perfect, and I don’t keep things quite as spit spot as someone else maybe can. Maybe I’m better at certain things, or a bit cleaner than another, but that none of that defines me as a home maker of not. It doesn’t really define any of us or our home making powers as much as we think it does.
The aptitude with which we approach some the finer details or tangibles of our home making don’t take away from the over- arching ones we do, and their deep importance. We are all making a house a home, and a family out of the people who live there. Chances are we are doing the very best we can manage today. Even on the less stellar days, we’re making a house a home. We’re building a life.
While it may include many menial and more laborious tasks, those aren’t the whole of it. What we do as humans living together and parents in a home goes beyond the housework, and it extends to heart of the work. To the people we “manage”, to the life skills we help build, to being the counselors, and pastors and true care takes. Perhaps one of the most important parts of our job as home makers is being a tone-setter. By deciding what’s most important, what’s worth arguing about or not, what we talk about, focus on and work for or towards together. We don’t always chose the direction especially as people get older and kids have things to decide for themselves, but we always do set the tone, choose what’s most important. Homemakers build a life based off our core values- realized or unrealized.
While I don’t want to make it a genderless word, or take it from any mother who loves to use it, I do want us to reconsider what it is, what it means, and what each of our parts is.
We all build things. Or wreck them, as noted already.
We are building a home with every thought, action, inaction, interaction and exchange. Every task, from taking out the garbage to scrubbing stains out of clothes has a purpose behind it. This happens in the middle of the day, or late at night. You build up your home, you make it one. Whether you work in the home, outside the home, or you don’t work for a money anywhere. It’s what you are as a person, adding to the places where you exist. Let alone as parent in your home, as a mom with your husband and kids, or a husband with his family.
Together we make it a home. We build. Brick by brick, day by day, thought by thought, act upon act.
Every interaction we have brings meaning with it. So we do. Every conversation, every day at work. Every buttered piece of bread, every towel that’s folded, every school drop off, every prayer and every hug.
It’s also in the neglected baseboards because you were too busy doing other things (usually with or for your people.) It’s in the hiring of help to clean those baseboards because of the same reasons. It’s in the stickers on your back seat window (that you swore you’d never allow.) It’s in the cracker crumbs at the bottom of your purse or on the seats or in your bed. It’s in the flowers picked, just for you, that you display so proudly. It’s in the practices and the games and the late night snacks and soccer uniforms and the plays on stage. The claps, the tears, the cries.
It’s in everything. We are home makers when we build a life with the people we love. When we make something that can’t always been seen, but can so very much be felt.
Mothers, fathers, parents. We make a house a home, together.
We work. We build. We care.
It might as well be with love.
For if we don’t, we unravel the work of others, on different days, little by little, day by day, piece by piece. We don’t want to, but we’ll have to do that work a bit or all over again. But don’t worry, you just keep going, you keep building with love. Love alway makes things work, even if you don’t see the results right away. It always makes it work- that is, if you do the work, too.
So just keep right on doing that.
Yes, we build, we care. We make it a home, with Love.
If we go through seasons where keeping up like we think or we need to is hard, don’t worry too much. The messes wait- seen or unseen. We’ll get to them when we’re able.
But those people don’t always wait, so neither should you. They’re what makes a house a home anyway. “Those people”, that includes you. So make sure you treat them each with care. For making a house a home takes an awful lot of that.
We’re built for it. So build it, make it, all with Love.
In January it can feel so slow In June, we wonder- where did it all go? September is when we keep track of time In July it felt like you were all mine. Oh baby girl, don’t you dare grow up.
Oh sweet son of ours, Don’t you know my heart skips a beat when you climb all those trees And you scrape both your knees. When you climb on my back, It helps get my mind back on track That this time, it keeps slipping away. Oh dear son, don’t you dare grown up.
You’ll be a strong man you’ll be kind and true Just like you showed us, Or did we teach you? Sweet girl you’re a lady, you’ll be even more grown. But we hope that forever Our love, Our hugs, will feel like home.
Go ahead and grown up but don’t grow out Don’t grow out of this love
Because you both feel home. Yes you two are home to us.
Each year seems to pick up the pace. While it’s easy to get lost in this space. You two are home to us. Yes you both are home to us.
Sometimes we have to pick up the pace Sometimes it feels like we’re running in place Sometimes you want it to be less like a race, Just a casual stroll, me and you. Just a casual stroll, us and you two.
As each year rolls by, I see how it flies. Oh time, why don’t you slow down?
Go ahead and grow up. But don’t you dare grow out, Don’t you dare grow out of this love.
“I’m not ready yet,” he said, looking at me with tears in his eyes still, a sad expression on his face. The tears had subsided and his eyes were getting less sad with each passing hour. I knew he was still sad and unsure, but he was getting there. Unsure at the thought of it all. That I was leaving. That he’d have to stay.
Earlier when the tears were hot and the pleading was high, I encouraged him. “You can do this, love!”
He was much less sure.
I wavered, but I didn’t want him to believe it was something he couldn’t do. I wanted him to know, yes indeed he totally could.
I ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head, cupped his wet cheeks. “It’s just a muscle you haven’t used in a while! But you can do this,” I said.
“What do you mean, ‘muscle’?” he questioned. I could see the wheels turning in his brain. Muscles, and mommy leaving. What did they have to do with each other?
“You’re just not used to it,” I said. “You used to do it when you were little. You went with nana most afternoons while I went to work for a bit. You loved it, and nana loved it. You are so special to her! Now you’re just not used to it. You haven’t used that muscle in a while. But you can do it darling!”
He thought about it. Still unsure.
“It’s going to be alright, I promise. You are safe and you have everything you need. I’ll just be gone for a little while and then I’ll be home! You’ll see. You’ll even have a nice time.”
Later as we got closer to the time for me to go, his smile had a bit easier, but he was still hesitant. He was still unsure. I mentioned out loud how I had to go to the class and help teach, and had to act something out something in front of the class. I was a bit nervous. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” I said to him.
“Oh you’re ready mama.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“Well good,” I said with a slow smile and deliberate wink, “because you’re ready too!!”
🙌🏻🫶🏻
He couldn’t help but smile back at me. I had used his same tender excuse right back at him. Flipping the script, back to truth. Urging him, gently nudging him from discomfort to ability. Even if it felt uncomfortable at first.
When I got home later and he happily greeted me at the door, relaying some lovely “old wives tale” his nana had taught him while I was gone, just as a nana should, I could see that all was well. Better than well.
I asked how his muscles were and he flashed his big, dimpled smile. He had exercised his muscles. They were bigger now, and so was his smile. Mine too.
We all were made to be uncomfortable. Else we would have stayed little tiny babies, needing only warm milk and soft snuggles. Parenthood is hard. Growing up is hard. Entrepreneurship is hard. Life is hard. But we were built to grow in the hard, because of it, right alongside it, and through it.
And now here we both were, together, like nothing had changed, and yet. It always is. Changing, and for the better, as much as we’ll allow. Always, for the better.
Some say, “Go out for adventure, come home for love.” Poppycock, I say. I think it’s Home for adventure AND for love. Then, out into the world for both. 🫶🏻✨
So, if you, like my son or like myself, wonder if you’re ready yet, you can remember this. Trust and know, that if you’re given the chance to try, chances are, you probably are ready. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Take a leap and let yourself fly.
We went to church on a Sunday. We drove all day to get there and part of the one before. It was afternoon when we got their evening when we left. But the lights turned on while we sat there. The warm glow of Christmas that had already begun, started burning brighter.
It wasn’t really a church, or truly, it was. An old church with a new name and the same mission. The Hope that strings back through generations and hold us all together. Hope that invites us and the heartbreak of being human.
And music.
Amy Grant and Vince Gill took the stage together at the Ryman- a couple, with a couple of powerhouse careers- and they shared their time, talents, and a Christmas concert with so many of us. A packed house, plus a few more shows.
I’ve loved her for decades stretching back to the 80’s and love her Christmas stuff best. I even walked down the aisle to a song from one of her albums- an instrumental, but still. The love and tradition run deep. Turns out my husband loved Vince from about that long ago too, as he drove around the south during his football coaching career.
Vince and Amy got married the year before we met each other and here we all were together, 23 years later.
Tennessee Christmas has always been one of my very favorites and here we were all together as our little family of four. We sang it on the road, and our son declared it his favorite (only later to be dethroned by Jingle Bells, but still.) Now we sat on church pews and heard it live and sang along softly, a memory, a wish in the making.
We tried two other times to get here, and it didn’t happen. Yet how here we all were, old enough to enjoy it, young enough to care and still a Family. I don’t know if it was the timing or the wait or forgetting it was even possible. Maybe it was all of those things. But even so. It was magical.
I cried a few rivers of tears at some of the songs, especially Amy’s. Vince waxed long and meaningful about his dad, who had passed on. His life and parenting style was a bit harsh but his memory played several strings on Vince’s heart, you could see. He honored him on his birthday, that very day we sat there together. Amy shared what seemed like a real gratitude for us all coming together, and you could feel the force of the stories we each carried.
The thing I loved most of all I think, besides remembering my times spent listening to the songs and past Christmases, was watching my kids here in the present – on the edge of their seats, elbows propped up on the pew in front of them. Faces reflecting the glow of lights on the stage. Eyes filled with wonder. Lips whispering along to the songs they knew. One’s love waxes super long for music, the other loves it too, though he fell asleep on my lap. I can only hope they carry these memories forward with them too. The warm music, shared experiences. The feelings, of being here, together with our family.
I hope that the thoughts keep them warm some night when the wind blows cold and the usual feelings fade. I hope these memories come to warm them, like all the best memories do.
I know that these memories will keep me warm long after they’re grown, maybe possibly snuggling their own children who are sleeping on their laps. Someday, somehow.
I hope it’s somewhere really good. In a church. In a house. In a warm theater. Wherever they are, in their hearts, hopefully, home. So sacred there, it almost feels like a church. And surely, somehow, it is.
In so many wonders wonderful ways it is. Where God is there with us too. That’s the real “magic” of living, of loving.
There’s something about live music and this one happened to hit so many high notes for us, as a family, shared and separate, old and now new, and Christmas too. By the end we were all standing and singing, silent night. And “holy night” voices raised, and a few arms. Holy night it was, indeed.
We stepped out into the cool night air in the middle of downtown Nashville. The lights had indeed, all come on. As we walked away from the beautiful stained glass windows of the church, I did, know, that the night was special. That I’ll be holding it closely too.
What memories are you holding, close, or making this year too? I’d really love to hear yours too🫶🏻❤️🙏🏻🎄
The other day my kids were looking through some old videos on my phone. “That’s you mommy? You sound so different!!” The words were innocent and simple enough, but they cut to the heart.
See they don’t remember.
My voice was sweet and airy, talking to my babies. It sounded unfamiliar to them, when I had no need to coach, only to love. Now a few years later, new responsibilities have come to them and they need to hear the coach too.
But I don’t want to forget the love, too.
I don’t want to forget to love, too. Even if they forget.
This is public serve announcement to myself and to all the other parents. To the aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and so on.
Don’t forget the middle kids.
The ones that aren’t quite babies anymore, but aren’t so grown up that they’re at the big kid table, or not for long.
The ones who zoom in and out of the family festivities, who grab snacks and dart off. Who talk about things and places and games that you don’t understand. Try to listen. Look them in the eye and show them you care, even if it’s only for a moment. Even if they upset your nervous system in all of their kinetic ways.
The ones who no longer are toddlers or preschoolers, who don’t delight you with their tiny grins or miracle voices that somehow come out of little bodies.
The ones who aren’t in their youngest or maybe their cutest years anymore, but aren’t quite grown up to be teenagers yet. They may be missing teeth or have mismatched socks. Their limbs may be longer and their faces changing before your eyes. Go ahead and reminisce. Remember who they were. But most of all, try to see them for who they are, today.
They may bore you with long stories. They may talk your ears off (both of them!) They might be shy, but they still see you and hear you from behind that mop of hair. They still notice.
They might be awkward. You might not know where they stand in life, or what they believe right now. About anything. They might not either.
Assume the best. Assume they still want to believe. In love, in Christmas. In Santa and in the spirit of giving. And definitely in themselves.
Be gentle with them Be patient. Be as present and as kind as your attention span can allow, and then maybe a bit more.
Play the game of uno. Try to concentrate for five more minutes on whatever fantasy story or reality life action they’re attempting to share with you.
Because someday these littler ones will be gone too, absorbed into whatever brand of teenage years they have destined for them.
But not before you get to love them a little more. Bless them a little more.
Because as hard as it is to imagine, they might not remember what you did before, when they were littler and tinier and maybe a bit easier to live. The memories you’re making right now, this Christmas, might be the ones that they remember, even if it’s not the ones that you do.
So pour into them- all the love and grace that you want them to carry forward. They are not destined to become anyone’s problem but they can already be our shared delight. To multiple returns.
They will never be this little again. They won’t actually.
And you may never have this chance to make these gigantic tiny memories with them either. Like how you listened. How you believed in them. How you loved. You won’t, not today. It might cost you your patience or your adult conversation. I know it.
But it’ll be worth it. Then even if they grown quiet for a few teenage years, at least they’ll know. They know you love them. They’ll remember how you care.
So don’t wait- pour in that love, already, and right now.
They’ll need to know that they have it for the long haul.
Am I the only one? I’m rather sure I’m not. I couldn’t be.
Tell me that I’m not the only one.
Who doesn’t exhale when I drop off my kids. But inhales, a rather sharp intake of breath
Like something is piercing me inside, no matter how much I expect it. A reflex of sorts, like a pull on my soul’s inner heart strings. A feeling I cannot fully define or certainly deny. No matter how hard I try.
Even when I know it’s good. Even when I know we both have things to see. Places to go. Tasks to complete. People to love. People to become.
These children of mine. They are not “mine”. But they certainly have my heart. In undefinable ways, they don’t just have my heart. They take a piece of it with them. Everywhere they go.
And I feel it, as it stretch just so. Places I can’t go. I feel myself expand, deflate, and grow.
Like my insides not so long ago to make room for them. That was just the beginning.
And so now does my heart.
I know how this goes. I know it’s all in preparation for greater distances and greater destinies for both of us.
We must keep growing. Or we’ll never know. Where were meant to go, on this hot air balloon ride. This journey of life.
But my heart will never not rise to go with them. Stretch just so. Tuck itself in. With the kiss that I placed on their cheek. Or the note that I sent in their packs. Or the words that I whispered at waking time.
“We love you we love you we love you.”
Together or apart. We will grow and stretch and expand.
When you go, child, it is not a relief or an exhale of any real stress. No not at all. It is a sigh. A stretching.
So that when you do come back I have room to love your expanding self more, too. Room to grow and expand in being myself, too.
It goes on and on. All of this growing.
Rising to meet. Stretching to the breeze. Bending toward the sky. Chasing down the sun. Bringing it all, too.
Growing to expand our hearts. Together or apart. We’re growing, together, in love.
That’s what it’s gotta be. That thing that I feel. A very stretching, swelling, and soaring kind of love.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love. 