God Doesn't Do Vacations

And... exhale.

Christmas is over.

The New Year has been ushered in.

And my house is empty.

This season has been absolutely, totally, completely, and without a doubt, one of the best Holidays I've had in years. I wasn't sick. I didn't have a malnourished, detoxing baby. I wasn't working, cramming for comprehensive exams, or having recurring nightmares about grad school.

So, I enjoyed decorating the house, making cookies, mailing presents, cleaning... It was like heaven on this earth. I am well aware of the fact that there are a plethora of women out there who hate being Martha Stewart. They don't like cleaning, cooking is a chore, and decorating is only fun when you have no budget. And I get it. It's the same way I feel about exercising and counting calories. But I also suspect that there are quite a few women out there who love caring for their homes, and are hesitant to say anything because in our current culture (i.e. the backlash against Pinterest), it's rather gauche and pretentious to say that you like maintaining your house and decorating.

Well, I'm saying it: I love it.

It's one of the most tangible, self-sacrificing ways that I can love my husband. I married a 1950s man. (Quite honestly, I think a lot of us women have married men from this decade, but they're probably a little hesitant to own it.) My husband is very, very easy to love. He likes a clean house, a hot meal, and a smiling wife and baby when he comes home. He has quite a few nights where he doesn't get this. My pregnancy and constant illness have served to keep both of us from worshiping this kind of ending to our days. But it's so wonderful to work hard, and watch my husband's face relax into a grin as he enters his "safe spot."

However, I don't think this love springs entirely from altruistic motives. When I was growing up, one of the verses that I memorized (more from my parents consistently repeating it to me, rather than a conscious effort on my part) was Proverbs 18:9, "One who is slack in his work is brother to one who destroys." I can still see my daddy's face bending close to mine, as he pointed to a half-attempted chore, and recited this verse. He looked so serious. My mama would point out where I had been lazy and say, "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might." (Ecclesiastes 9:10) And then, she would ask me very quietly, "Is this all your might?"

Shoot. They are good parents.

I needed someone to consistently address the laziness in my heart. My selfishness. My apathy. And they did. Every job I've ever held, I was driven by these early lessons. While I consistently failed (hello, being human!), I'm confident that God used these early lessons to regulate how I used my time and energy while on the job.

And then I transferred to a less formal environment: stay at home mama.

I'm not going to lie. The first couple months were incredibly difficult. It was a transition that I was not anticipating having any trouble with. But I did. You can relive my angst here, here, and here, if you would like. But then, I found my groove. I regained some energy. I found things for my hands to do, and I did them with all my might.

I became June Cleaver.

You can laugh, but when you have a husband who equates a spotless house with happiness, it's very, very easy to join him in this obsession. I clean like crazy. I bake. I cook. I organize. Obsessively.

And I began to derive a certain amount of pride from my efforts. You see, I'm not a naturally clean person. I'm actually quite laissez faire in my housekeeping. I'm more interested in creating than maintaining, and I'd spend all day glueing, decorating, re-arranging if I could.

So, I was quite impressed with myself for turning over this new leaf. In fact, I became very, very proud of the fact that I could keep my house so clean.

And this is where we learn that God doesn't take vacations. It may have been Christmas holiday, but He wasn't taking a break on my soul.

You see, my house is immaculate almost all the time. After all, it's my new "job." And I'm constantly checking in with my hubby for a "performance review." But, God, in his sovereignty this holiday season, allowed people to see my house every. single. time.  it was not clean. Every. Time.

Once it was a friend who showed up early for a play-date while I was in a whirl of baking, present-wrapping, and laundry. (Imagine the visual cacophony of glitter, flour, and piles of laundry.) Another time, it was my hubby giving a house tour to a host of youth leaders after 5 days of out-of-town guests, and a Sunday morning when my child had pulled everything out of the medicine cabinet and strewn it all over our room.

You get the idea.

Each time, I was given the choice of how I was going to respond... I could be flustered and ungracious during a play date. I could be angry at my husband for his poorly-timed tour. Or, I could recognize that these negative emotions stemmed from wounded pride, rather than from actual sin. 

I was forced to stop. To think about why I have my house. Why I keep it clean. Why I want everything immaculate. Am I actively using my role as housewife to love others? Or is it becoming an idol? 

I'm very thankful that God doesn't do vacations.

And that He chose to teach me. Even over Christmas...