As I was reading through the comments from my post on that man, I realized how much I've come to love the term "homemaker." I used to think about it with disdain. It represented all that I was hoping NOT to become: a myopic, insignificant slave with no life outside the four walls of my house.
But as I've begun to devote myself to becoming one, being a "home"-maker has come to represent something far beyond the menial tasks that appear to be the job description. It has become a word that is incredibly compelling to me: It means I'm the one who makes my house a home. It doesn't matter if I'm working outside the home, if I live in a big house or a small one, if I have no children or a bunch of them. It crosses all socioeconomic boundaries.
It means I have a finger on the pulse of my family: not just my children, but my husband, too. It is not a weak, passive job that can be passed off to an unskilled day-laborer. I am a filter for keeping out the bad, and a channel for funneling in the good. I can create an atmosphere of cool indifference, or a warm one of loving acceptance with the moment-by-moment choices I make. With each load of laundry, with each spill I mop up, with each hug, and with each "I love you," I can direct hearts toward strong character and toward faith in God. I can "make" my home.
It's something God created me to do, and it's a powerful thing.
She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.