"My house looks like a bomb went off!"

“It looks like a bomb went off in here!”

What mom hasn’t thought that some days as she surveys her domain?

Heaped laundry baskets sit on the couch alongside stacks of folded towels.

Craft supplies strewn on the table along with paper bits everywhere.

Lunch dishes in the sink and evidence on the floor that children have eaten.

Books and papers perch on almost every horizontal surface.

We take it all in and evaluate. Our evaluation is primarily negative: There’s so much to do! All these problem areas will just be back tomorrow. No one picks up after himself around here. I can’t deal with this thankless work anymore. 

Whenever we take in the facts of our surroundings, we never see just the facts. We are always, inevitably, adding a layer of interpretation, of narrative, of story to what we see. That interpretation, in turn, tunes our attention to take in more of the information that fits the story while ignoring the information that doesn’t. 

Let’s look at that aftermath from a full day again—this time with a cheerful heart and optimistic vision.

We take it all in and evaluate. Isn’t it incredible that I can fit three loads of laundry into my day around the edges of everything else?! I can have the kids help me put that all away after dinner. I’m so glad we got our school done today and that the kids were able to fix themselves lunch. The kids are so creative and such good sports helping put together those signs for the church event coming up. We got so much done! Next I’ll pull this ship back together so we can keep going tomorrow!

Same circumstances. Different story. Different attitude. Only one of them is productive. Only one of them is actually true. 

No matter the mess at the end of a day full of activity, it doesn’t actually look like a bomb went off. That’s a metaphor, a little mini story, that is more likely to blow up your own internal dialogue and thereafter your life than it is a funny exaggeration. 

A bomb destroys. A bomb levels. 

The laundry you did, the food your children ate, the work you all did today with various supplies that are still out, is not rubble in the wake of destruction, but merely evidence of action, of life, of productivity. Nothing has been destroyed, not even your home. 

Our home’s purpose is not to sit pretty. It is not to be a testimony to our good taste. The goal of our housework is not even that the house be clean. Yes, you read that rightly.

When we start thinking of our goal, our mission, as keeping a clean house, then all the living that happens in our house appears to be thwarting our mission. But that is exactly backwards. We clean so that life is facilitated and welcomed. When we see evidence of life being lived, of projects being pursued, of education happening, then we should rejoice, while clearing the decks for more of it to continue happening tomorrow.

We are so desperate for a grade, for a paycheck, for an evaluation, that we too easily seize upon the state of our house and elevate it into our scorecard. We look at the house and let it be a judge, holding up either a 10 or a 2 — and rarely do we see any middling numbers. 

Then we swing wildly back and forth between being all about keeping everything just so and entirely giving up. We see only 10s or 2s because that’s our boom-and-bust cycle on display. 

We want our homes to be cozy, welcoming, beautiful havens. That’s our standard for a 10 out of 10. The crumbs on the floor, the dishes in the sink, the laundry in process, and the evidence of children in the house appear to negate our attempts at creating havens. 

But your home is not for hygge. Your home is for life. There will be times for cozy and serene, but more time for busy skill-building and messy discipleship. Your home is a stage for your mission, not a mission in itself.

I have learned to be amused by comments some people will make when they hear I write on organization. Everyone by default assumes Martha Stewart and Pinterest and Instagram. Unconsciously, women equate organization with control. We picture being “put together” as never having anything out of place. 

My husband, children, and friends raise their eyebrows in amusement when they hear comments like, “Oh, your house must be amazing, so organized!” “Your house must run like clockwork!”

Let me tell you, we are often scrambling. We’re not scrambling like those who have no purpose, who are flying by the seat of our pants. We’re scrambling because we want to be working at as much as possible, pushing our capacity, actively and zealously pursuing good works as God makes them available to us. 

That means our home is messy more often than it’s clean. We spend more time “in progress” than we do “complete.” If you step into our house on a typical day, you will not find everything in its place. I’m ok with that because my mission isn’t having an organized house. My mission is raising a family that glorifies God to its fullest, expanding capacity. 

Organization is a tool to help that happen. It’s not the goal itself that everything else is serving. Organization as a tool rather than an end looks very different in real life.

I have taken meals to moms with several small children after their third or fourth or fifth baby, stepping over toys and setting the food on a dirty counter, only to have the mom apologize that the house isn’t clean. Let me be the older woman, grandma even, who gives that new mom self-consciousness a different perspective on the facts: 

If you just had a baby four days ago, with 3 other children under 6 running around, it had better be messy when I come drop off a meal. Your job is to sit, nurse, rest, smile, cuddle. That’s why I’m bringing you a meal. You’ll pull the house back together again later—maybe in three or four months. It’s ok. 

I am actually concerned if I walk into an immaculate house, not a messy house, in such a situation—unless it’s because a mom or sister is staying with you. I want to see a house bursting with evidence of life and not a house evidencing a woman who spends all her time tidying up after people so that the house stays just so.

The state of your home is not your grade. The state of your family is your grade, and that grade is on the movie version, not any single snapshot. The state of the house and of the family are often different. One should serve the other — and the one you make your focus will be served by the other. Thus, if you make your home’s cleanliness your scorecard, your family will be serving the house, not the house the family. 

However, if you are truly devoted to your family, you will manage your home toward that end. It might rarely be impressively clean and organized, but it will facilitate the flourishing of many people. 

All the evidence of full lives lived in your home at the end of the day is no sign of destruction, but the exact opposite. Our metaphors matter. Your home is a garden. You can nuke it so nothing grows at all, but if you’re growing a vegetable patch, there will also be weeds to pull every day. You can’t pull the weeds so well one day that they won’t ever come back. 

It’s never too late in your garden to start pulling weeds, no matter how big they are. Productive gardens require tending. They are ongoing projects, bearing fruit and nourishment. The same is true of our homes. Productive homes require ongoing tending, care, attention, so that they can bear fruit and nourishment for many.

Do not be discouraged by the fact of the work. Roll up your sleeves and learn to love it because you see its goodness.

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