Unwelcoming 

on

I have two dogs and a cat and a husband, and a job. My house is not as clean, or organized, or decorated, or as livable as I would like it to be. 

I have tried cleaning schedules and calendars to know which day I vacuum and which days I mop and do laundry. It worked at one time. But lately with an unexpected far distance to drive for work, my housework has been lacking and house improvements have been drug out over months. We moved into our house in October and still have no curtains and very few things hung on the walls. 

I once browsed Pinterest and magazines for beautiful home ideas for that magical moment when we would be in a house for a “guaranteed” 3 years. Yet, I find myself still scared to paint or hammer holes into the walls, fearing that I won’t be able to enjoy the location for that long. 

I know it’s silly. I’ve read plenty of articles, blog posts, and a book of how to make a rental into a home, and yet I’m still stuck. 

With that being said I am challenging myself to at least get the guest bedroom looking like a room by our one year mark. 

By putting off decorating and convincing myself there is such a thing as a perfect home, I am creating my home to be a place of discontentment. This in turn makes me hesitant to invite people into it, not because it’s a sacred place, but because it doesn’t reach my level of perfection and probably won’t reach theirs either. 

In writing, that sounds even sillier than it does in my head. 

Perfection should not be my goal for anything. That word in itself is unachievable on my own. 

I see this play out in my faith as well. I cannot be perfect, I will not always do the right thing, or hold my tongue when I should. But Jesus says, “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy-laden and overburdened, and I will cause you to rest. [I will ease and relieve and refresh your souls.] (‭Matthew‬ ‭11‬:‭28‬ AMP).

He doesn’t ask for perfection, because He knows I can’t be perfect. He asks me to come, just as I am. Imperfections and all my mess and discontentment with myself. 

As I looked around my home this morning, I realized my attitude is what is making it unwelcoming not how it looks. This song kept playing over in my head. 

If I can’t welcome the Holy Spirit into my house, then how will I ever welcome anyone else into it? 

I want my house to be welcoming, not perfect. I want it to be encouraging, a place where people can feel God’s presence running through every fiber of this old carpet, seeping through the cracks in the blinds. Pouring out love through the gutters because our house can’t hold onto it. That would be a house I would be proud of. 

My house may look imperfect, but it (and I mean I) cannot be unwelcoming. 

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