Friday, January 6, 2012

Homemaking Poems

A Homemaker's Prayer
by Melissa M.

Let me be a homemaker,
Not a homebreaker....
Let me never dread
Sweeping cobwebs overhead
Or polishing panes distressed
'Til they look their shiny best.
Let me delight to see
The counters clean and free
As often as the sun
Makes its glad upward run.
Let me cook with flair
And, yes, bathe all in prayer.
Let not a shrill, rash word
From my mouth ever be heard,
But may words of wisdom and grace
Always take their place.
A million little tasks,
Whatever my mother asks,
Are not so small after all
When done to honor the Creator of all.


And this one is a little rougher, but still has some good points. Maybe I need to work on it some more.
It could easily be misunderstood; I know there is much more a homemaker can do than just cleaning and cooking. I meant that the home should be our main focus and sphere, and fame is not what we should be seeking for. (To be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed. - Titus 2:5)

Keeper at Home

My hands are soapy,
Spattered with crumbs.
A thousand stains
Return each night and day.
I sigh and think
Of building bridges,
Of speeches grand
And polished words
Written 'neath covers gold.
Of mission huts
In tribal lands,
And sculptures of heroic bands.
Yet where would all that
Leave the home? I ask.
Wounded knees would
Remain unpatched.
Kitchen and tub
And floors unmatched
In dirt anywhere world-wide.
I'd bounce from place to place,
Yet have no coming home,
No lived-in nooks,
No loving looks,
No neatness or flourish.
Do these matter in spite of it all?
Does the daily grind at home
Make up a job as important
As others?
Just ask the ones
Whose mothers prayed
And wept and played
And sang and stayed
And bought and made
And never complained,
Always sought good and right.
Was it worth the fight?
My mother is such,
And where would I be
Without her sweet touch
Of diligence and love?
She bravely went on,
Followed husband's lead
As if solemnly decreed...
Perhaps it was, indeed.
My hands are slimy,
Covered in grime.
Is it worth my time?
I'll let you answer this time.

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