Human Houses

People are like houses. Every person is a unique place. I love the variance in colors, decorations, smells and styles. No two houses are the same. I love, love, love the privilege of being invited through a doorway into the living space of another. 

If you meet me (on an extrovert day), I'll invite you right into my kitchen where the roast is in the crockpot, hot tea is ready, and you'll find nourishment for body and soul. If you're safe and we're friends for awhile, I might invite you into other rooms of my house. There are many rooms in here. Some marked "The Great Parenting Experiment," "The Great Homeschooling Experiment," my health, spirituality, my messy family, current struggle, past pain, things that make me feel alive, things that trigger sadness, my crazy thoughts, my passions, etc. I only have a couple friends who have had a peak into the majority of my rooms. No one but God has seen them all. 

When I invite someone into the kitchen, I can almost immediately tell if they are fishing for a quick tour of my house to make sure the right color is on the wall, certain books are on the shelf, and the style is comfortable and familiar. If I indulge a short tour, I feel completely disregarded as a whole person. They don't care about my house, the history in it, or the overarching feeling inside. They disregard the nourishment and life I'm willing to share. They only seem to care about finding things in certain rooms that will affirm they can be my "friend." They may find the information they need to move our interactions into the category of "friendship with agenda." In that case, if they decide to keep visiting my house or I let them, they come to convince me certain rooms need redecorating. I'm not into that kind of friendship.

If you invite me into your house, there are a few things you can be absolutely sure of. I just want to sit at your kitchen table and enjoy you and the space you feel comfortable sharing with me. I want to hear what your heart is saying and feel what you feel inside your house. I want to eat the food you offer and drink your favorite kind of tea. I'm not coming with my own tea bag in my pocket, my own food and my own pictures to hang on your wall so I feel more at home. I want to experience something of you. 

If the entryway is all you want to show me, I'm still honored. If you want to open a few doors, I promise I won't try to redecorate them. I won't even ask you for a tour unless you want to give it. I don't need any room to look any certain way for me to feel comfortable in your house. And if I become safe enough for you to be invited into some of the more vulnerable places, I will hold your messiness and pain close to my heart and keep your stories that live behind closed doors within the safety of our interaction. If one of your rooms should make me catch my breath or trigger a fear or memory of my own, I will simply look at your eyes and remember whose house I'm in. I will be at peace with how you choose to decorate, remodel and live in your house. 

My house is lived in. I believe it's nourishing and peaceful even with some chaos in a room or two or ten. I have some redecorating and remodeling happening in different sections of my house right now. If you can't handle that construction zone, there are plenty of other rooms that are life giving and warm. Ultimately, I'm me. The whole of my house is me. My house does not consist of one room or wing or area. If you reduce me to what you think you find in one room, you will miss the warmth and connection I may be able to offer you while you visit my house. Honestly, if you don't find my house life giving, I am not offended if you move on to find houses that are. I'm only asking that in moving on, you honor the beauty and uniqueness of the whole of my house. 

Every single person on the planet is a precious house filled with rooms and longing to be seen and loved by ones who know what it feels like to truly be "Seen and Loved."