I remember my first exposure to those words. My new friend, showing me parts of the town, described those people living in the trailers as "white trash." Her disdain for single-wide living was clear, even though she'd never met the faces behind those doors.
When we moved to NM, we were shocked by the cost of living, and we were hating living in our rental, the kind where the neighbors can hear every conversation and you can ask to borrow eggs without ever leaving your home. Just shout in the window right across from yours.
We opted for manufactured housing on a couple acres in a rural area. At the time we thought we had a big house. 7 more children later, and I'm constantly calculating how to better work our space. But I'm well aware of the stigma of manufactured housing. Even the wise Dave Ramsey tells you you're flushing your money down the toilet if you buy one.
As women, our homes are often great sources of pride. It's not unusual to spend more time making our homes look great while our hearts rot away. Too often we forget that
we make the house a home, but we don't automatically have a home just because we have a house. I love how my 2 year old always corrects me when he sees our house. I say, "That's our house." He replies, "No, home. Home." Already he shows wisdom beyond his years.
If you've even glanced at a home show on tv before, you quickly discover that the home you live in is SO outdated. Surely, you can't live with such a small bathroom. Surely your children shouldn't have to share a bedroom. Surely, surely, surely, you shouldn't have to live like that.
Instead of being inspired to make our abodes the best they can be, we're filled with discontentment and convince ourselves we need something bigger or better.
What we're often saying to our husbands when we complain about the homes we live in is, "You're not doing and providing enough." Ouch! Imagine your husband coming home every day and saying, "Honey, you're just not doing enough around here. Nothing is good enough that you've given me." Yes, there are slacker husbands who need to step up and be better providers, but most of us are blessed with husbands who sacrifice moment by moment for us.
Even more grievous is the truth that when we complain about our homes, we're telling God HE hasn't provided enough.
What if God never provides for you to have a bigger or newer home? Could you stand it? Would you make it work, cheerfully de-cluttering and doing what you can to make your house a HOME? Or would you lose precious time thinking of how grand life would be if you only lived elsewhere?
Would you proudly have friends over, not apologizing for the worn couch in the living room or the outdated bathroom fixtures? Would the warmth that comes from your heart outshine any chipped walls or cramped spaces?
And how do you judge others' homes? I remember a fellow Christian asking my sister, when she was visiting us with her son, where in the world they slept, disdain dripping from her tongue. Yes, that hurt.
The truth is that a new home with bigger rooms and fancier fixtures won't cultivate thankful hearts. We take the same hearts with us from place to place, which is why Paul reminds us that true contentment is steadfast, in plenty or in little, in affliction or in joy, in all circumstances.
In her book on housekeeping, Ella May Miller challenges the discontented housewife to stop hating her small, inefficient kitchen (and you can fill in any spot in your home), and instead,
"think about the good you're doing there."
Imagine replacing those thoughts of envy or frustration with thoughts of the good you're doing in your home. The precious bodies you feed every day, spiritually, physically, and mentally. The atmosphere of love and joy you create. The care that's in the details of brightly lit candles, freshly washed towels, and story time in small spaces.
When we've learned that kind of contentment, our homes become the loveliest places to be, to us and maybe even others. And even Home and Garden magazines and television can't convince us otherwise.
With love,
Trisha
