Voices in My Head Need to Just Shut Up

A couple of weeks ago a dear friend reached out to see if she could stay with us for six days before she started her next semester of graduate school. Several months ago Chris and I had told her she was always welcome in our home anytime, and we were so glad she had taken us up on it.

She was to arrive Sunday night; the boys were to leave Monday morning; Epiphany was Jan. 6 but I didn't get home from North Carolina until 1 am Jan. 7 (and we keep Christmas up through Epiphany--we're good liturgists like that)--it was a perfect storm. A perfect storm for chaos...

She came and used our home as home base--some nights she had dinner with us, some she didn't. But every evening when she came home we sat and talked about the day. We shared our lives--our hopes and fears in the most vulnerable ways.

Last night was her last night here and I was exhausted. I went to bed before she got home from visiting other friends... I heard her come upstairs. She knocked on my door and came in to talk (told you we were good friends...) As we talked about people she had seen and conversations she had with others she said this, "I told _____I loved being able to stay with y'all. It was like coming home. It was like being at my parents but with no expectations. It was so comfortable." So maybe for a minute I could hear the heavenly chorus getting ready to saint me....

Then she added, "I told him I loved there were piles everywhere and it was just comfortable to plop down. I love how it feels so lived in, so homey, so real." Now if you know me you know where I got hung up....piles everywhere, so lived in....

And the voices in my head started---not clean enough, clutter, and then they went to voices still in my head from the last decade, "you know you should clean out and organize your spice cabinet every 3 months" (that could help prevent the 3 containers of basil and 4 of cinnamon). I heard the voices that say, " a good mother, a good wife, a good person would have a home where dinner could be eaten off the kitchen floor on any given night." I heard the voice saying, "See you're really not managing life..."

I went to bed with voices fighting in my head. I knew in my heart what she said was meant to be a compliment, but that other voice is so damn pesky! Today I finally told Chris about it because that voice wouldn't shut up! (it was either that or blow up and go into the cleaning frenzy that is not pleasant for anyone...okay maybe I did a little of that...) And he said, "I know she meant it well, and I'm glad she was here and we could offer that comfort."

You know what? Me too. I thought about the parable of the friend at midnight (Luke 11:5-13), and I thought about all the scripture that talks about welcoming the stranger and the foreigner and I can't help but believe that also means those who need a place to rest and to have no expectations--a place to find solace, a place where tears are honored, and a place to have lots of laughter (we do have Caroline still in residence).

Sometimes I do wish my house could be in a magazine for being beautiful and everything would be in its place always with no clutter, where spices are organized by date and I don't have to empty the roomba several times during its trek because of dog hair, but that's not my life, and even though I sometimes tell myself someday it might be, I'm probably delusional.

Instead I have a bathroom where my daughter leaves her tape from icing after basketball because she works hard and through the pain so she can be part of the team AND she's rushing off to study (or socialize)

A counter that has bills piled on it because Chris and I have vowed to work on finances together this year.

A hamper that is in the den because I told the boys at least FIVE times to take it up before they left for Florida and I'm determined to fight my urge to do for them what they can do for themselves (their wives can thank me later).

Christmas decorations partially taken down because the day off I thought I was going to have I got to spend with some wonderful people who ministered to me and I to them. (and the nutcrackers still have nuts in their mouths from friends who already know my home is theirs....)

A chair with a blanket thrown haphazardly on it with my needlepoint always ready because the men in my family believe I am their personal belt server and I LOVE it!







A kitchen counter with fresh fruit and vegetables

because the fridge is full (thanks be to God) and we promised to eat healthy this year, and it is covered with chargers because we are fortunate enough to have multiple electronics (oh and we might kill our children if one more charger goes missing)

A dining room table covered with work because Chris and I are fortunate enough to have jobs that allow us to work from home if we need to and a table where many meals are shared full of laughter (and when we clear it there are ironed cloth napkins)






My grandmother's desk which has become my personal chapel and

consistently has an open bible or journal or book or piles of stationary because those are things that mark my day.











And the room my friend stayed in is SK's which has boxes that are waiting to be moved and sorted as she finishes her final semester of college along with left over streamers hanging from the window from the decorations I put up when she scored a 35 on the ACT and was accepted to her first choice college so that she would learn to celebrate herself--cluttered with love AND ironed sheets.




So I'm telling that voice to shut up ( a word for years my children thought was a "bad" word), I'm telling that voice it doesn't get to decide what makes me a good person; I'm telling that voice it doesn't get to define what makes a house a home.

And our house, our home, is always open to anyone who needs a place to stay, a warm meal, a hug, laughter, a place to cry or just a place of quiet (okay maybe not the quiet)--and that's exactly what I want it to be--clutter and all.

Y'all come, pull up a chair and stay awhile (just toss whatever's in the seat onto the floor), we can stretch any meal and the sheets are ironed.

And those voices can just shut up--I am enough.