A cousin of mine shared this link the other day, and I thought it summed up the charm and mystery of the privileges of serving in the home wonderfully. I often need to remember this. I hope you enjoy as well.
People say the domestic life is narrow and stultifying, a prison for the intellect. Feminists have long made this claim.
I guess you could say that’s true, but only if you think human history is boring, the laws of nature are boring, love is boring, birth is boring, children are boring, personality is boring, the mind is boring, morality is boring, death is boring, male and female are boring, sex is boring, illness is boring, kisses are boring, prayers are boring, literature is boring, philosophy is boring, poetry is boring, God is boring, the seasons are boring, music is boring, trees are boring, sunlight is boring, the stars are boring, snow is boring, dew is boring. If all this is true, the home is not what it appears: a fount of ideas and truths, a university and a museum, a laboratory for the curious, a gallery of all that is human. If the home is boring, life itself is a desert.