6 comments | published by Linda | January 09, 2010
Titus 2:3-4
“Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children.”

I still visit when I need to remember. I close my eyes, yet I can clearly see. My mother’s kitchen from my childhood has been forever imprinted in my mind. From the purple speckled counter tops to the wooden drawers and cupboards with round metal handles, it has never changed. The little rectangle window provided a view of the front garden, and the street where we lived. Mom always loved having fresh air blow in, so the window was always cracked halfway open to provide a soft breeze. A little wooden spice rack which held small glass jars filled with different types of seasonings hung close to a white wall clock in the shape of a flower. I remember in the evenings when her work was finished in the kitchen for the day, Mom would leave the stove light on to lighten up the kitchen just enough.

There’s nothing quite like stepping through the front door of my home after playing out front in the cool evening hours, and feeling the warmth wrap around me, and smelling the dinner cooking in the kitchen. I was quick to kick my shoes off, and feel the shag carpet beneath my toes. I was home.

I now have the privilege of being a mother to six children. My counter tops look different from the ones I remember in my Mother’s kitchen, and my window displays a different view, yet I know my daughters and sons will remember. It is now my honor to create warm smells that will come from the kitchen and draw my family to the table in those evening hours. Although my jars are not the same as those in my memories, they hold spices, just like Mom’s. To keep my home warm, filled with music and delicious smells for my children to take in when they walk through the front door makes me smile, as I stand ready to listen and love.

I’ve been told that when a soldier has been wounded, that often times his last thoughts would be of his Mom, his home. He may not remember what the view from the kitchen window was, but rests in his memory of what was inside.

I pray my children will visit when they need to remember. That they will call upon those memories to know my love. To close their eyes, and clearly see.
Posted in Attic    |   Tags: Coming Home

January 09, 2010
Oh Lindy Lu! You’re a fantastic writer. I love reading your blogs. You have so much insight and wisdom. NOw you know why I like to ask so many questions. Let’s schedule our next interview! Ready?!!
teehee. :-) love you

[Wedding Photographer]
January 09, 2010
OOOoohhh, love the smells coming from your kitchen Linda! – Focaccia bread, cookies baking. I see pictures behind every cabinet door, pictures and colors all over the refrigerator, 6 different choices of cereal. love it.

Micah H.
January 11, 2010
I love It!! The smells in the kitchen are great!!

February 05, 2010
Guess I've missed some of your work. Was nice to figure out how to get to this. Enjoyed your reflections on home. Thanks for sharing. Hugs!

February 05, 2010
Guess I've missed some of your work. Was nice to figure out how to get to this. Enjoyed your reflections on home. Thanks for sharing. Hugs!

Penne Pasta
March 09, 2010
Even nearing 60, I still have the unspeakable privilege of going into my mom's home. I know the kitchen inside and out. It is dear beyond words--and the model for my own home all these years: cheerful, pretty, light and full of delicious potential! Thanks for reminding me!

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