I sit down at the imposing wooden desk. Its surface is cool to the touch. I think my seat must be set at a slightly lower altitude than the gentleman’s across the way. I suddenly feel quite small. I seem to have entered into an illusion where everyone has everything in order, from their hair, to their clothes, to their entire life. He questions me, “And, your occupation?”
“My occupation? I…I…I’m a stay-at-home-mom. I mean, I don’t work. I mean, I stay at home and work a lot. I don’t know, I guess you can just list it as ‘homemaker’, but it sure doesn’t sound like much.” The final portion of that sentence being mumbled, of course.
Business attended to, I rise to leave. As I move through the sleek and sterile illusion of the well-oiled Machine of Progress and Purpose, I reflect. I look down at my shoes, flat and worn. I pull my purse close to my side, thin and comfortless. My smallness longs for the comfort and safety of home, where one can be grounded and make sense of it all. Yes, home. My head begins to rise and my eyes survey the beings trapped within this corporate illusion of “progress and purpose,” of fulfillment and wealth. Purpose. Fulfillment. Real wealth. I stop. I turn back.
“Excuse me, sir, you’ll need more than just a two-inch line to describe that which occupies my time. I, sir, am a Homemaker; I am making a home. The builders built it, but I am making it a home. They framed it, but I’m finishing it with all the tools of my feminine being.
“Building upon a Foundation sure, I am daily kept busy nurturing hearts, minds, and bodies. As I enlighten rooms with glowing lights to guide their physical steps in the dark of night, I am reminded that I have also been entrusted with the duty of enlightening their minds with The Light of Christ as found in His Word and with the lesser lights of education to guide their steps in the darkness of this world.
“I am a Homemaker. I am the Gate-Keeper of my Haven of Rest that houses and nurtures eternal souls. It is my temperament that governs the spirit within these walls. It is my very words that give strength to this frame, or insidiously rips it down. It is my faith in God that will give birth to their faith in God that will birth the next generation’s faith in God.
“I am Mother. I am of the called. I am of the chosen ones. I have been selected by God to reproduce His love over and over and over again as I sacrificially give of myself to see my children safely over the dangers that frantically grasp at their feet and their hearts along the way.
“I have a divine purpose, a holy calling with eternal prospects and consequences. I am to be infectiously transmitting my faith to my little brood. I have a duty that demands my all. I am to reflect the joy of knowing my God and Saviour as I walk with Him and allow Him to change the way I interact with my ever-observing audience, whose eyes are sharp and whose ears are keen, and whose collecting of data takes no vacation.
“I must constantly be aware that I am making a home out of that which occupies the hours of my days, the words of my mouth, the tears of my heart, the prayers that pour out to my God in the dark of the night. I am making a home with all of these things.
“I must periodically meet with my Heavenly Master and ask before the Board of Heaven, ‘How am I spending my hours? What is it that breaks my heart? How often am I communing with my God in earnest prayer? Are my efforts stained with the perspiration of human effort or saturated with the dew of heavenly intervention?’ These meetings are sometimes fierce, always soul-searching and often heart-rending events. But shy away from them I must not! For with Him I can do all things, and without Him I can do nothing.
“Yes, sir! I am a Homemaker! What is it that you said you do?”