Anybody else out there want to be the perfect housewife? Maybe you don't. Maybe you feel like it's not important. Or homemaking is not really your thing. Or you are a man. In any case, I would like to be a perfect housewife.
I thought I had the perfect training to be the best one to ever hit the scene. I grew up the oldest of eleven children... learned how to cook and bake in mass quantities, learned to clean and wash, iron and mop, make things by hand, and use herbal remedies.
I was set, right?
Unfortunately, with all this training (thank you so much Mom), I still made some errors.
1. It took me 3 tries to make chicken noodle soup. The first time I boiled the chicken too long. The second time I made the broth and never got back to it (this gave me one stinky pot to clean). And, finally the third time, we had it, one of the crown jewels of homemaking...chicken noodle soup.
2. I fed Tim the saltiest taco meat, with enough sodium to give him high blood pressure for life.
I sadly pushed my plate away that night and said something terrible that I would rather not say again, "This is unedible."
3. I've let ground beef go bad before I froze it or cooked it several times. Each time I tossed the tray into the can with disgust lamenting my poor skills and bad meat memory.
There have been other gaffs, those three are my favorite in the kitchen.
It really is a shame that I look up to Martha Stewart so much, always pleasantly looking across her countertop saying sweetly, "It's a good thing." I forget that she also has a thousand hands working for her.
It's easy to look in a magazine, or see someone else's immaculate home and feel like you don't measure up. And maybe it isn't the food you are worried about, but the decorating, expensive furniture, or overall grandeur of your home. Or maybe you just wish you could pull off that high heels with a cute apron look.
Like everything else, I need to learn that my self worth doesn't depend on the cleanliness of my home or the excellence of my roast beef. My confidence must rest in Christ, not on any earthly thing. And that is how I let go. Now, that's what I call a "good thing."