"A motley assortment of nails, bolts, and screws lay scattered across the worktable generously spotted with primers, paints, stains, and varnishes. These were punctuated by various cans and by shopping bags emblazoned with an orange 'Home Depot.' The green floor was peppered with fragrant pine sawdust and sprinkled with splinters of metal. Wood, tiles, and countless 'to-do' projects peeked from the shelves and cabinets lining the walls. Paper bags, old rags, and tools mixed themselves on the floor among the power saws, drill presses, and work benches. In one area were the special projects Papa was helping the boys with—canoes, models, and small chests."

This was a description I wrote three years ago of my father's garage. Everyone thought it was an amusing as well as accurate  description. Yet, there was one very important detail I neglected to mention: a small rectangle of pink paper—dog-eared, faded, and dusty—peeks from the wall above the workbench.

It reads, "Where no oxen are, the manger is clean, but much increase comes by the strength of an ox. ~~Proverbs 14:4"

The garage here is referred to as "Papa's room." It is his own personal place, the birth-room for countless visions of projects and home improvements. Although Papa occasionally undergoes a cleaning bout (being married to an immaculate woman does things to you), it is likely that the garage will always be in a state of disorder. It doesn’t matter, though—"Where no oxen are, the manger is clean, but much increase comes by the strength of an ox.”

Many of us ladies resent the fact that “the gentlemen of the house” don’t always (often don’t, in fact) pick up after themselves the way they should. Our particular household has a man and four men-in-training, and it seems sometimes that we girls are constantly scurrying about picking up dirty socks, shelving a million Curious George books, and mopping up after dirty boots. Our orderly natures are constantly offended by spilled glasses of milk, torn and stained clothes, rumpled school papers, or gardening tools forgotten in the backyard.

Call yourself to attention! Where are your priorities? Are they founded on an impeccable house or a happy home? On messes or the people who make them?

As pretty and idealistic as those questions may sound, I know, as one of those more organized members of society, that the reality is seldom pretty or particularly merry. Still, as I sweep the floor for the seventh time in a day, my little brother races in (with grass-covered shoes) and shows me something from the backyard. “Look! For the nature journal today!” He hands me a nondescript something-or-other and runs out again. I survey the trail of wet grass he has left, but I smile. He should have wiped his feet, but he was so excited about showing me—whatever that is—that he probably forgot. I sweep up the grass and dump it in the garbage can along with my grumpy feelings.

We definitely enjoy a vacation now and then, as we enjoyed when the boys went out for an (eventful) camping trip this last weekend. (We cleaned things and they stayed that way!) We also definitely encourage the boys to cultivate habits of cleanliness and order (we sometimes nag them, I must admit). Yet, when all is said and done, we are glad to have boys that “mess up” our house. What would we do without their good spirits and gaiety, their silly jokes and hard work? Sure, the occasional oxen stampede will leave us temporarily overwhelmed, but it does keep a woman’s life lively!

O! Give me a home where the buffalo roam,

And the deer and the antelope play;

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,

And the skies are sunny all day!

Photograph: Little Boy Shoes. © Handmaidens of the Shepherd, February 2009.

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