the peace house
The little wooden house sits on our kitchen table, typically unnoticed. My son brought it home from Sunday’s Cool a few weeks ago (yes, that’s what we call it. Totally different from that old stodgy Sunday school, you know). It has little disks with velcro on the back, so the peacemaker of the moment can be honored in the central spot. The kids created these for a lesson on Joseph, the favored son with eleven brothers: a story of sibling rivalry gone very bad (and eventually good, but that’s much later in the story).
For some reason I treasure this little house (and really, it’s not like me to treasure every craft project my kids bring home). I have to admit, I haven’t swapped the disks yet. I think the kids might compete about who goes into the peacemaker spot, which would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? Or maybe that’s a good thing– to try to be the best peacemaker in the house. That might be helpful. I might try it. But must everything be a competition?
Perhaps, at this age, it does. Did you notice the little devil horns on one of the disks? It’s typical of the adolescent banter around here. To be honest, it makes me giggle. I’m not too worried, because I know he didn’t really mean it, and his brother does too.
Yes, I grow weary of the incessant put-downs and bickering in my home. I do what I can to quell it. I try often to create a house of peace. Sometimes, I’m the one who wrecks it.
But we are imperfect, and I guess that’s why I love this symbolic little house. We have our scribbles and blots and our moments of devilishness. But I know down deep, there is love, and sometimes peace, in our humble house.