Home is where the mess is

There is a version of me. She is an incredible host. She laughs this musical laugh and says, ‘Come back to mine!’ And there’s something baking in her oven. There’s always something baking. Something with cinnamon. And the house, the house is immaculate. There is never any random debris on her kitchen bench. There is no bottle of shower gel on her bookshelf for no good reason. You could eat off the floor space under her couch. You might think you’re popping by for afternoon tea, but the conversation is just too good, so she puts a few extra plates on the table for a nutritious dinner. It all just happens. It all unfolds. And everyone who comes to her house feels nurtured and nourished and just so impressed by this vision of a woman in a cute apron and oven mitts. (Did I mention? This version of me actually looks cute in an apron. She has a nipped-in waist, despite all of the cinnamon baked goods she keeps pulling out of the oven.)

I’m waiting to become this version of myself. When it happens, I’ll invite people inside my house. I will invite them so hard. It’s bound to happen some day.

I’m exaggerating a little. I do have people over. It’s just that I never seem to get it right. And it’s so much work. I have to clean for days just so that I can tell guests that I’m sorry for the mess. (It’s a trick, you see. This way they think my house is usually even tidier.)

By the time people arrive, I’m exhausted and feeling bad about myself. I’m stressing about the food. I’m stressing that things are so far from perfect. I watch my husband. He’s chatting and relaxing by the fire in the backyard that I panic-cleaned 90 minutes ago. (It will be fine so long as nobody goes around the side of the house where the tangle of dead toys and garden equipment is dumped.) I give my husband so much side-eye I almost pull an ocular muscle.

Like Martha, I worry about many things. Have I remembered to pay for the sports day thing on Compass? Why does the TV remote have no battery cover? Does Annie have enough grey socks?

It’s times like this that I think that Martha got a raw deal. Do you know the story I’m talking about? I’m sure you do. Jesus is visiting his friends, two sisters. Martha is stressing over the vol-au-vents and trying to achieve a perfect dismount of her vanilla bundt. She is putting food on trays and wiping up spills. And Mary? All of this time, Mary is just sitting there. She’s relaxing. She’s listening to Jesus talk.

So Martha is checking on the glass potatoes and cutting the chocolate ripple cake into geometrically pleasing slices. And she is just simmering with resentment. That’s when it gets too much. She stalks back into the living room. She talks to Jesus (not to Mary, and she says it in front of everyone, so a little pas-ag, but anyway). She says, ‘Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!’

Jesus looks at Martha. The way I see it, his eyes are full of compassion and if he smothers a sigh, you couldn’t tell by looking at him. He says ‘Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.’

I don’t know what happens next. I like to think Jesus invites Martha to sit down and join them. Better yet, maybe he sends Lazarus off to check on the food (their brother Lazarus has been there the whole time too, and nobody has called him out for not helping. Why? The patriarchy is why!)

Jesus isn’t being unappreciative of Martha’s hospitality. The problem isn’t with the food. The problem is with where her attention is focused. The most important thing is being present with Jesus. Instead, Martha’s attention is on everything else.

God doesn’t need me to be his PA, striding along beside him with a clipboard, barking instructions and managing his affairs.

Like Martha, I worry about many things. Have I remembered to pay for the sports day thing on Compass? Why does the TV remote have no battery cover? Does Annie have enough grey socks? Is it possible that I currently have a fatal, incurable disease that has no symptoms and I just don’t know it yet? How many apples are in the fruit bowl right now? Are there enough for school tomorrow? And are they the right size for the lunchboxes? Where’s my bag?

I used to find morning prayer stressful. There was so much to cover. My prayers were like a shopping list of concerns, swirling around my head. I would stress about forgetting one of them, as if the All-Powerful Master of the Universe was reliant on my help to keep him on top of things.

God doesn’t need me to be his PA, striding along beside him with a clipboard, barking instructions and managing his affairs. Instead, Jesus invites those of us who are worried by many things to turn our attention towards him. To sit and rest in his presence.

More recently, I’ve reduced my morning prayer to one thing. ‘Help me to grow in holiness.’ Everything else springs from that.

When I think about friends who are good hosts. It’s not elaborate food or sparkling clean houses that make them that way. There is an attentiveness, a certain presence. The focus is not on feigning perfection. The focus is on enjoying each other’s company.

There is another version of me. She sometimes has whole pieces of toast in her hair and doesn’t realise it ... And if you’d like to stay for dinner, she might stick another frozen pizza in the oven.

I’m not saying mess is best. I definitely aspire to order and cleanliness and hygiene and clarity. But I am not going to wait until my house looks impressive before I let people in. And I’m not going to give myself a hard time because I struggle.

There is another version of me. She sometimes has whole pieces of toast in her hair and doesn’t realise it. She puts the kettle on and takes your order for tea. Then she gets distracted and forgets that tea exists. There’s stuff on the table, some school books, a pile of mail and somebody’s half-finished craft project. You’ll have to take a stuffed toy off the chair before you sit down. There isn’t anything baking, but there are plenty of Iced Vovos left in the already-open packet in the pantry. And if you’d like to stay for dinner, this version of myself might stick another frozen pizza in the oven, so there’s enough McCain’s BBQ Meatlovers for everyone.

It’s not always tidy. It’s not always functional.

But you are always welcome.