The important thing about your lot in life is whether you use it for parking or building.

— Unknown

Thirteen years ago this week, my husband and I left the sizeable city where we had met and married to begin a new life in the Pacific Northwest. A new career opportunity for my husband, the adventure of living in another region of our nation and the advantages of raising our children in a smaller community were intriguing and invigorating prospects to us in the early years of our marriage. So strong were these yearnings that they outweighed the disadvantages we understood we would face in moving away from family and friends.

The first year we rented a home in town on a lovely street lined with firs and beautifully manicured lawns. I will never forget that first morning I opened our blinds to peer out on our new neighborhood. What I noticed beyond the perfectly pressed uniforms and the children gathering at the bus stop in front of our home were some amazing garages. Along with perfectly swept floors and organized tools were immaculate cars. Until I met my neighbors I was left to wonder about the great housekeepers who lived inside.

“Aviator country!” commented someone in the grocery store later that day as I stocked up on household necessities we did not move. Suddenly the order made perfect sense. The discipline, organization and attention to detail — essential in getting aircraft up in the air — was modeled in their garages as well.

I immediately admired my new neighbors. They had made a great first impression on me. But for the first time in my life I felt terribly intimidated about meeting them.

And what a strange experience that was for me. Making friends had never before been difficult. I love people and they continually enrich me. But I realized that my move, fueled by that sense of adventure, had come with a price. I had given up friends back home who shared a history with me. They had learned over the years that they could count on me to stop whatever I was doing to give them my attention. They did not mind stepping over the discarded pajamas to reach my kitchen table.

Now do not get the wrong impression. I love organization and a clean house. I think better when there is order and minimal clutter. But continual cleaning does not invigorate me and I struggle daily with the endless, thankless tasks of housekeeping. Sometimes I get so bored I plan and daydream instead. I happily place into action my lifelong commitment to placing people first. How easy it is to ignore for a moment the growing clutter and focus instead on helping my daughter get ready for the fair, watch my son glide over dirt jumps he has made for his bike, or spend an hour on the phone with a friend who needs a sounding board.

As if it were yesterday I remember the first time one of my new neighbors with the perfect garage rang the doorbell and peered in at my pile of clean, unfolded laundry — dumped onto the dining room table to make space in the dryer for the next wet load.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s overloaded with clean clothes in need of folding!” she exclaimed. Not only was it the beginning of a beautiful friendship but a lesson: Initial perceptions rarely reflect reality. We all have laundry to manage and if we let pride — or fear — stand in the way of opening our lives to those around us, we will live lonely and ineffectual lives.

Because God has helped me to see that my home has value and purpose beyond housing my family, I regularly challenge myself with some questions. Am I focusing on creating a House Beautiful look or am I aiming for a place to relax, eat, play, talk and think? Is there an atmosphere of love and acceptance here? Are there tears to be wiped and prayers to be said? Will I make time to really listen and be willing to make a quick meal for a hungry teenager — even though it is late and the ground meat needs to be defrosted?

Beautiful things can happen around a kitchen table that may never occur within the confines of a classroom, sanctuary, psychologist’s office or courtroom. Our homes can be powerful tools God uses to transform individual lives and neighborhoods. Just look around. Your coffee maker, cookie jar and an open heart will do just fine.

Contact Joan Bay Klope at

jbklope@hotmail.com