The place in my home that gets the most attention is my kitchen. (After I typed "my" I thought, "I ought to write 'our'," but I really do consider it to be my domain...and mine in every way.) It is the place where I do all of my cooking, almost all of my homework-helping, much of my listening, a lot of my praying, lots of my crying, some of my laughing, most of my problem-solving, quite a bit of my thinking, much of my homemaking, and most of my nurturing. It is the center of life for me in my home. I believe in hearth and home, and in many ways this room is both for me.

When we bought this house I was overwhelmed and, frankly, disgusted by its appearance. I cried a lot at first. But the room that just broke my heart was the kitchen. It seemed so long and narrow with dark cupboards and "busy" granite that didn't match. There were flourescent lights overhead and weird wire plant shelves in the window. I looked down that long dark hallway and thought, "I'm never going to be able to cook in here."

After consulting with my remodelling company (me and my Uncle David), I decided to refinish the cupboards rather than replacing them. I spent 6 weeks hard-labor on those cupboards. I cleaned and stripped and sanded and primed and painted and sanded and painted and sealed and painted and sanded and painted and sealed and stained and rubbed and sealed again, until my arms ached. They were worth every effort, and completely transformed my kitchen. When I finished I told David that I didn't deserve to live in a house this nice. I love them and jokingly told my husband that these cupboards better be in my mansion in heaven. (His eyes replied that even the "mansion in heaven" may be getting my hopes too high.)

I am more happy than I can say working away in my kitchen. It is where I find true expression in my homemaking and mothering, and I believe even though it is usually not a reverent place, most of the things that I do in it are sacred.