Shackled at Home

Albert Mohler recently quoted from a reporter that women need to be liberated from the “shackles of home”. So let’s look at that word, shackle, from Webster’s 1828: To chain; to fetter; to tie or confine the limbs so as to prevent free motion. I hardly think my decision to remain on the homefront to serve my family qualifies as slavery, and I’m quite frankly bored at this point by those who insist I need liberation and endeavor to remove me from where I most want to be. Why? Because I don’t believe them. I think they’re liars. They say I’m chained, tied, confined. I know I’m freed, married, and all is well with my soul. Furthermore, when I compare what I have to what these types of reporters think I am owed (or owe), I say, “No, thank you, I don’t want it! And trust me, what I’m doing at home is far more valuable, lofty, and transcendant than the trauma and baubles you are offering.” I see the fallout, I see the broken marriages, I see the children without engaged mothers or present fathers. I see the empty shells of houses that people park their cars in and sleep in but do no living and cooking and birthing and dying in. No. Thank. You.

It’s foolish to think we as individuals don’t belong (or are “shackled”) to something, someone, some place and some time in history. We didn’t pick our birthday or our birthplace, or even our parents. Even the most ardent libertarian is, shall we say, chained to their philosophy and way of life, their place in culture and the generation they were born in. The question is not how to be “more free”, but rather where and to whom (or Whom) you will find your life hid within. There is no vaccum of worship or belonging. We worship something or someone, not nothing or no one. We belong somewhere and to someone(s), too. As such, we build our worldviews. I belong to Christ, and I belong home.

We homemakers don’t have to pay any mind to these bullies that come along and proclaim how unfulfilled or wasteful or slavish we are, and that all of the remedy must be outside of the family and home (did I mention they were liars?). They have zero idea how fulfilling it is to be a keeper at home, a guardian of the home, a Home Maker. They think we’re brainwashed, and it doesn’t matter how many college degrees from even their respected colleges you happen to have. I either ignore them or gladly shake my handwoven made-from-home kitchen towel at these reports while wearing my handsewn and hand-embroidered apron while gleefully barefoot and yes, even joyfully pregnant at times, and I then purpose even harder to respect my hardworking husband, allow him to show his love for me by providing and protecting me, and I rejoice even more fervantly for the walls I have around my sweet home and for the savor of a family who loves one another, supports one another, and even learns to fight and forgive well.

None of this happens if I am not here. So here I plant my feet. And I have been blessed beyond measure for doing so.

 

 

I have learned to be frugal, to invest more into what money can never buy.

 

 

I have learned to clothe my children with not only fabric, but with compassion and love.

 

 

I have learned to bolster my man’s courage in being a father.

 

 

I have learned to sow seeds of beauty and to create sanctuaries.

 

 

I have learned to take raw material and to work with my hands to create something useful.

 

 

I have learned to tell Truth through my writing, my weaving, my being.

 

 

I have learned to express my emotions, my pleasures, my anguishes.

 

 

And sometimes those expressions I find to be beautiful.

 

 

I’ve learned ancestral and wholesome nutrition, and effective and traditional medicines.

 

 

I’ve learned to feed my children, with wholesome food, with belonging, with acceptance, with love.

 

 

I’ve learned to understand creation more and to be thankful for its offerings.

 

 

I’ve learned that acquiring new skills or habits is messy, but that perseverance (one thread at a time) is how the race is won.

 

 

I’ve learned that playtime is for everyone. Being outside is for everyone. That the things we played with as children, we miss so much today.

 

 

I’ve learned that it’s the doing things that is what’s important. Not so much in doing them “right”.

 

 

I’ve learned that seeding, feeding, and growth happens a long time before the harvest.

 

 

I’ve learned that childhood is a wisp of time. And so is adulthood.

 

 

I’ve learned the joy of filling the pantry.

 

 

And also the linen closets, beds, walls, dressers, and drawers.

 

 

I’ve learned humility, tenacity, and dedication.

  

 

And when I die, I will have something to show for it all.

 

 

There’s no job on earth that will fill my soul like that of being a homemaker, a mother, a wife. It’s all I ever wanted in my heart to do, and I am eternally grateful for the mercy of God in giving me the privilege of doing so. I appreciate using my home as a place of hospitality for others as well, and as a springboard from which to serve my community. The home is an active, engaged, lifegiving and energetic place to bless a multitude of others through our service and our work. Don’t let your hearts be troubled, friends; stay faithful on your homefront. Better to be shackled, if you will, than to be untethered.

Blessings,

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