I know I talk about him a lot. A. Lot.
But my husband is a gift.
Saturday, we made “gingerbread” houses using graham crackers instead. The bowls were filled with candy, napkins at the ready, Bing Crosby singing Christmas carols on the stereo, when my husband joined us, kneeling at the table, ready to make his own little house. As he made the children laugh and helped them with the frosting, my heart overflowed.
He didn’t have to join us. He had been lounging on the couch, watching the game, enjoying a slow, well-deserved Saturday afternoon; practically sleeping already. But the addition of the big, bearded man at the candy-litttered table was precious.
My husband is a minister. We live in a tiny parsonage. The property is not our own, yet he works in the yard weekly, involving our sons in the maintenance. He longs for land of his own, with a lawn to mow. A large garden to till. Fences to fix.
And as he worked with the frosting and candy, he good naturedly joked that if he couldn’t have a house of his own, he was going to make his graham cracker house as nice as possible. His is the one with the covered porch and upstairs balcony!
“Daddy, your house is so good!” the boys exclaimed, as they hurried to mimic his in their own clumsy way.
Me? I smiled. We are his home. We fill it with joy. Laughter. Music. The boys wrestle him to the ground when he gets in from work. Eliana kisses his cheek, then rubs her little nose, tickled by his beard. I keep his home, teach his children. I fold his t-shirts the way he likes. Cook his favorites as often as possible. Love him in the way only I can.
And I dream with him. We imagine our own home; designing every nook and cranny, all the while fully aware that we will go wherever God sends us; whether it be to a home with a wrap-around porch, or a tiny parsonage.
My husband knows that we are his home. He is honored here. And God will honor him for caring for his surroundings so lovingly, possessions or not. Me. Our children. His congregation. The parsonage.
The graham cracker house with the covered porch will not last long around here. It will be picked apart and eaten before it hardly has time to dry.
But our home is built upon the Rock; shepherded by the Savior, given into the care of a man who loves his family.
Sweet icing windows. Cinnamon candy paths. Licorice porches.
Graham cracker house dreams.
Isn’t life sweet?
9 fellow travelers shared:
it is very sweet..YOU are very sweet. I loved this post.
I really liked this post. Thanks for sharing it with me.
This is a lovely post! Sweet words about your hubby and family!
Love this post and LOVE the pictures.
Thank you for that reminder that our family is my husband's home. It challenges me to make it the best I can for him. Thanks. :)
I really love how you have elaborated on some of the especially poignant gifts, and done so with such grace. Beautiful.
I love how you write! Here's the first thing I though of when I read this: We never "own" anything. I know you know this, but living in a parsonage is the same as having your own home in a spiritual sense. Everything on earth is God's, not ours. He has just chosen to let us use the things we have. So, how you and Kevin view your home now is how we should all view all of our houses. Thanks for being such a wonderful wife and mom to your family and being a Godly influence on all of us!
This was a beautiful post. You always see to put things in the proper perspective! It looks and sounds like it was a beautiful family moment.
You are FAST becoming one my favorite bloggers!! I just love your writing style and way you express yourself. What an incredible gift to give your husband. There is obvious love in your home!!
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