There are toys everywhere. Dishes in the sink. Laundry to be done. Always laundry. My teenager's room smells like a teenagers room. Chances are if you turn the TV on it's set to Sprout. When attempting to walk through any part of my house you will most likely trip over a dog, child, toy, or some form of clothing.
I don't have a sparkling clean house. I don't have the nicest, newest things. I work two jobs, raise 3 kids, have 3 dogs, and 1 husband. I drive a mini-van. Yet I don't want for anything. There is nothing in my life I'd trade for an upgrade.
The age, condition, and contents of my house are what make it a home. Shiny and new don't make a home. Clean and sparkling don't make a home. The coolest gadgets and furniture don't make a home. My home is lived in. Anyone can walk through my dirty door and see that there is an abundance of life and love in our home.
The toys that clutter the ground mean that I am blessed to have my children. Some are not.
The old windows and broken cabinets afford me the opportunity to work hard and appreciate the replacement when it happens. Those who do not want, do not appreciate.
The overgrown yard means my weekends are filled with family, friends, and many things to do. Some don't know the joys of full days.
The dishes in the sink mean that I was blessed to cook for my family. Some have only themselves.
My pastor always says that life comes in seasons. Perhaps someday we'll get the new carpet or the new fence. Maybe someday I'll drive a car that doesn't have three rows of seating. And we'll see if someday I am able to come home from work and read a book instead of making dinner and picking up the house. But for now, these things all mean that I have love in my home. My old, run down, dirty home.
