…the sound of the washing machine running?
When Evie was born, Davey and I left for the hospital in the middle of the night. We’d left all the lights on in our hurry, but when the older girls woke in the morning to get the house and farm up and running, it all felt so lonely and abandoned to them.
I have a routine, you see, from which I seldom vary: slip out of bed and close the bedroom door softly so as not to awaken Davey; start the coffee pot; start the laundry; and, in the winter, start the fire. If the scent of fresh coffee does not linger in the air, if the hum and rattle of the washer goes unheard, then something must be wrong with Mama!
Not too many weeks ago, we were talking about how noisy the upstairs chimney fan has gotten. “Yes,” Delaney said, “but I love the sound of that fan.”
I nodded. “Because when you hear it, you know there is a warm place waiting for you somewhere in the house.”
“No,” she said, “because it makes me think, ‘Mama!'”
All these things we do that seem so endless and thankless and small, all these things make up the fabric of home life, and they speak love in a big way into the lives of our children and husbands. It is worthwhile to keep house, to cook meals, to fold laundry, and to make your home pretty and comfortable. It is worthwhile to raise children and care for a husband. It is the liturgy of life.