This is us

By Vicki Fourie

I pack away and I put it back. I wash and I fold. I clean and throw out. Here, in this house. Four other humans also do things, here in this house. They throw it down and leave it there. They make a mess. They break. And, when they are done, they are hungry. I cook. They eat. And eat. And eat. I wash. I clean. That’s us; in this house.

This morning our house smells like clean laundry and fresh coffee. It feels like home. I walk in through the front door and kick my eldest’s number 8 trainers out of the way – the shoes are so big there’s hardly space for anything else in the entrance of this house. But someone also managed squeeze in: three more pairs of shoes, a bicycle helmet, safety goggles and a broomstick (don’t ask). Big sigh. The smell of clean laundry and fresh coffee has disappeared.

In the kitchen the drawer with the Ziploc bags and skewers is open (the other drawers are also open, of course, but I’m focused on this one). The skewer sticks do what they do best: stick out. All that was once folded has been unfolded and Ziploc bags lie strewn over the floor. I do what any responsible mother in my position would do, and squash everything back into the drawer until I can manage to close it (yes, I realize that the skewers sticks will probably be sticking into my fingers the next time I open the drawer). On the kitchen counter another Ziploc bag catches my eye. It is filled with two bananas, two apples and leftovers from a lunch box. Oh, I get it. It’s my youngest’s pack-lunch for playing “tiger-tiger”, packed and ready for when his elder brother comes home to play with him. Those bananas are going to smash.

I walk up to my room. Cleaning-as-I-go (this is one word and a verb, ask other moms): an old apple, underwear, one sock, Lego, rubber bands, scissors (oh, that one’s mine), cricket bat and a dirty porridge bowl. I walk past Middle-child’s room. I should have avoided eye contact – cricket bag, rollerblades and skateboard obstruct the entrance. How did he manage to get out this morning?

The closer I get to my room the more distant the smell of coffee and clean laundry becomes. I do smell laundry, but it’s definitely not clean: Husband’s squash clothes are lying in a wet bundle on the floor; there is sweat in the air. I try to step over the squash bag and trip over the carpet – barely able to reach the bed, and the Bible. I am blinded by my chaos, but Father has wisdom waiting in the wings – Psalm 133 wisdom.

Verse 1: “Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity!”

Perspective. A Wednesday morning gift to me, mother of three and wife of one. It’s tough and its messy but here is where brothers live in unity (mostly). His Word brings Wisdom and Wisdom without limit. Thank you, Lord, for number 8 trainers at the front door, because those feet are growing (and also, please let the shoes last at least for this school term). Thank you, Lord, for Youngest who has a gift for messing up drawers and making up new games. Thank you for his imagination and for his brother, still willing to play with him, even at the mature age of eleven. Thank you, Lord, for Middle Child with his head in the clouds, who value people over things and who doesn’t have time to put the skateboard away because the next adventure is already waiting. Thank you, Lord, for the owner of the sweaty bundle of clothes, who plays and laughs, forces us all onto the squash court and coaches and makes jokes, who always comes home – husband to his wife and father to his boys.

Psalms 133 Verse 3: “There Lord has commanded the blessing, life forever more.”

This is their house. This is my house. And this us. We live here with the blessing, “life forever more.” Come in, share in this life...

Walk through this house with me. Look at these dirty marks on the wall; healthy feet practiced a few karate-kick here. This stain on the carpet is where one with an appetite knocked over his smoothie. Do you see that cracked photo frame? Strong arms managed to hit it with a table tennis ball. Please just walk around this heap of pillows, a head full of ideas has been building a fort. Move that box full of books aside; tomorrow someone will use it to share the Gospel. Cover your nose when go past the bathroom. There’s a bookworm on the toilet reading Harry Potter. Ignore the ants carrying away the cookie crumbs, the wilted flowers in the vase and yesterday’s (OK, last week’s) ashes in the fireplace.

Come, have a cup of coffee; I’ll rinse out a mug, there aren’t any clean ones left. Join me here at the kitchen counter, please pick up that toy car on your way. Grab a rusk. No, I didn’t bake it. Let’s spend some time together, join in my wealth. How are you?