Your Home: Day 90; 100 Days to Brave

We included Rock Band on our wedding registry. It wasn't because we were so desperate to play or that we were afraid our first year of marriage would be boring and we would need the entertainment (disclosure: the first year is absolutely NOT boring), rather it was put on our registry with the intention of it serving as a tool: we wanted people to come over and have fun.

In our first year of marriage, when we lived on the lake with the laundry room in the bathroom; where Lake Riley was in our backyard; where we woke one day to discover mouse droppings EVERYWHERE; where we interacted personally with the soldiers on base and wanted so badly to befriend them. To invite them in and over. For dinner. For conversation. For entertainment.

Scrappin' Along

And then there were bolis in North Carolina. Our love language: stromboli.
With intention we had Michelle and Peter over. And the girl who would eventually move away. We invited Dave, who never came, and we would make bolis. Stuff them tight with beef and cheese, mushrooms, pepperonis, black olives, banana peppers, and sauce.
It was our offering in that place. Come, let us feed you.
We were pregnant with Zeplin, our first, and we wanted every moment of availability to be intentional.

I am not writing to profess any sort of perfection.
No, no. It is nice to remember the past because it was our actual lives.
It's nice to reflect.
But that was not always my reality.
I did not grow up with money.

My parents divorced when I was in the third grade.
For a long time, I felt like we were less-than.
Ours was not the family of my dreams.

It wasn't that there was no love, there was, it was the obvious lack of emotional, financial, and mental support. My parents were children who married and had children. They were immature because of their youth and there was lots of struggle because that was our reality. We had little, so there was little to share.

We would have family come, and we had friends, but I think I have always longed for the Full House, Family Matters, Step-By-Step above-and-beyond approach: Kimmy, Urkel, and Cody. They came. The home which was not theirs felt like theirs, because there was love, security, and welcome there.
All were invited. 
(P.S. Did I just flashback to T.G.I.F.??)

PicClick

As an adult, and especially now as a parent, I see the importance of this. Of inviting people in.

"Home is where we find peace, so to sacrifice in that place is to sacrifice deeply." -Annie

So how do we make our home into a sanctuary? A place of welcome? A place of fun? Of love?
We give it all to God, I suppose. 
We look around and see the mess, but also the furniture, and we thank God for them both. The dinner and the dishes. The laundry and the family who wears the clothing.
Big or small. Fancy or plain.
Our homes can be sacred places when we invite the Lord inside.

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Some people place anointing oil above the doors in their homes. Some people write Scripture on walls before they paint them. Others purchase beautiful artwork from Hobby Lobby that reads:
In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus.  *ehm*

We play worship music ALL. THE. TIME.
We love Bethel.

We say out loud, Holy Spirit, You Are Welcome Here.

We speak love. And forgiveness. And welcome.

We print family quotes and include references to gratitude and prayers.

We do these things because we are thankful for a roof over our heads. For food in our pantries.
For plumbing, and clean water, and air to breath.

We welcome the sacred with thanksgiving. 

Etsy

Be Brave: 

Thank God for your home, for the place you live, 

and ask Him how you can be brave with your home. 

Bravery looks like an invitation to dinner. 

A game night. 

A porch light left on. 

An extra snuggle. 

A letter in the mail. 

A smile. 

Bravery looks like love.