in His hands

We're into six weeks of having another person living in our home, trying to make a new start and get settle into a job, and find some independence. I'm a very private person and generally not good with sharing my personal space. I endure it, but I don't embrace it. I still get touchy when my husband's mother comes over into the house and shouts to me, or pounds on the door or calls repeatedly to get our attention. We live in a double block and our cellars adjoin, so you can walk from one house to another via the basement steps in to both kitchens. It still makes me feel like I'm a guest here. But I know it's good for her, so I try to be at least cordial. Sometimes I don't make it.

Eric is another matter, and it's hard to explain, except that first of all, he's a generous and kind person by nature, very open and happy. What he loves, he loves, which right now is football. Somehow though I know I'd like my studio space back, it's not crucial. It doesn't irritate. I understand and don't mind giving him room (in several ways) because it really doesn't feel like the room is mine to give. It's God's economy and His "stuff". Things do need to come to a close because he needs to move on and grow, and really begin to establish his own new life. But he tries so hard to help out, so Sunday's dinner was chili dogs, chips and packaged apple turnovers. That's way too much salt and junk for me, but I felt obligated by his desire to give back something and give me a break in the kitchen. He also did the dishes.

It reminded me that some people just really need other people, and not in the sense of taking advantage, being overly dependent or even lazy. Sometimes I look at myself and think my own private nature is too far from a normal need for company and "home" as much as I try to make mine cozy and warm. I just see how the Potter is molding this clay and making it more pliable, and I know it need to be.