it's funny what happens when something you love is taken away for an extended period of time.
my kitchen is still under construction for much longer than i thought it would be.
my floors have dust all over them. not like, look at these dustballs! like, look at this film of construction laying over the books and the toys and the moulding and the shelves that i can't clean up.
i have no countertops to spill flour all over. no whirring mixer to bake the day away.
i have no couches to have you sit on and visit, we moved those out to redo the floors.
i have no water to give you. oops. we're out of bottled water again. no plastic cups, we ran through those. the glass cups are somewhere in this pile over here. i think?
my bathroom is disgusting, i'm sorry, just close your eyes when you use it...i've been so busy trying to manage the construction zone, i haven't deep cleaned. what's the point, a layer of dust will soon cover it.
i love making a home. home making.
i find identity in baking and kitchen-ee things.
in being a hermit. (this place is where i can rest and hide)
and for weeks and weeks, i haven't been able to stand my house. the dust. the fumes. the unending work. the tiptoeing around the boxes.
we leave a lot.
i sigh when i walk back in the door.
it is so good for me to have my world turned upside down and see what i cling to.
falling down a well and grasping at the walls is sort of what i feel like. all because of a kitchen getting ripped out. or is that just the mirror?
i look at my gutted kitchen and see a reflection of a woman who doesn't know what to do with herself.
Lord, help me. it's just a kitchen. and just a home. i am told by the world to make my identity here and it is failing me right now.
not that baking and home making are bad.
asking it to tell me who i am is where i sin.
a forever struggle with identity perhaps for all humans.
but a longing that is placed in our hearts to point us to our forever home with God. a call for things to be made right and fixed and perfect. a longing for true rest, an eternal hiding place.
home-making isn't something human's came up with, it's a whisper, a remembering that God is making an eternal home for us.
tell me that story, God. tell it to me again through the hammers and the dust. whisper it to me in the paint stroking and yell it to me in the loud sawing.