Welcome to His House,
A parable of spiritual intimacy,
Written by me,
Judy Boozer.
This story is a parable,
A spiritual journey told through metaphor,
Inviting you beyond information and into experience.
Now before we begin,
I want to share a brief note about language.
Throughout His House,
God is presented using masculine pronouns.
This is not because I believe God is male,
But because as a woman,
I wanted to capture the experience of intimacy with a being whose thought process and essence felt entirely different from my own.
To do that,
I chose the other side of the human duality,
Masculinity,
To represent the divine within this story.
My hope is that,
Regardless of gender,
You hear beyond the words,
Into the relationship,
The longing,
And the love that the story reveals.
Each chapter opens a window into the soul's walk toward the divine,
A walk that moves through symbols,
Emotions,
And revelation.
To fully enter this journey,
It helps to begin not with the mind,
But with the heart.
These moments aren't meant to be hurried or analyzed.
They're meant to be felt.
So before we begin Chapter 3,
The Dishes,
We'll take a few quiet moments together to slow down,
Breathe,
And become present,
Body,
Mind,
And spirit,
So that you can experience the story rather than simply hear it.
Take a slow breath in through your nose,
And release it gently through your mouth.
Let your shoulders soften.
Let your jaw unclench.
Let the pace of your day begin to fall away.
Feel the support beneath you,
The ground,
The chair,
The earth.
You're safe here.
You are held.
Another slow,
Deep breath in,
And out.
With each breath,
Let your awareness move closer to this moment.
Closer to stillness.
Nothing to prove.
Nothing to produce.
Just this space to be.
Now imagine yourself standing on a quiet path.
The air around you is calm,
Almost expectant.
Somewhere ahead,
There's a soft light,
A glow you can't quite see clearly yet,
But it calls to something deep within you.
This light,
This call,
Is the beginning of your journey to His house.
Breathe deeply again,
And as you do,
Let go of whatever might distract you.
The noise.
The planning.
The worries.
The waiting.
Let them rest beside the path for now.
Whisper inwardly,
I am here.
I am listening.
I am ready.
Stay with that readiness for one more slow,
Deep breath.
Now gently,
Let's begin Chapter 3,
The Dishes.
One night,
After dinner,
We sat at the table and reminisced about the day.
I told a story about a bird I'd seen that morning with a bright blue jacket and small,
Dark eyes.
I told how I'd watched it bounce around,
Cocking its head and chirping before flying away.
From across the table,
He smiled knowingly and nodded.
I know that bird,
He said.
He comes by every morning,
Hoping for a handout.
I fed him once,
And now he's decided that we're friends.
We laughed together.
He got up and began to clear the table.
He asked if I would mind washing the dishes with him.
Of course,
I didn't mind.
As I carried the serving plate into the kitchen,
He squirted me with water from the faucet,
Laughing.
I squealed and put down the plate,
Chasing him through the kitchen.
We laughed,
Joked,
And sprayed each other as we washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.
As far as I know,
I won,
I think,
As long as winning is determined by who is the wettest at the end.
I loved it.
The next night,
After dinner,
We sat and chatted about the day.
After a few minutes,
I began to clear the table.
I moved to the kitchen.
He stayed at the table.
I began to wash the dishes,
Truthfully hoping he would follow,
Hoping for a repeat of the night before,
But he stayed at the table,
Drinking his coffee,
Quietly contemplating,
Alone in his thoughts.
I refilled his cup twice before I was finished with the dishes.
I felt disappointed and reminded myself that I couldn't,
I shouldn't expect him to entertain me.
After all,
It was his house.
The third night,
After dinner was over,
I immediately began cleaning the table.
I wordlessly took the dishes into the kitchen,
Ran the water,
Put away the food,
And began to wash the dishes.
As I was drying the copper stew pot,
He came into the kitchen.
What are you doing?
He said.
Startled,
I looked up,
Thinking that what I was doing must be obvious.
I looked around at the dishes and the water,
And then at him.
I'm cleaning up,
I said.
You know,
Washing the dishes.
Why?
I don't know.
I guess it needs to be done.
His eyebrows came together and his lips turned into a straight line.
Do you think I invited you here to do chores for me?
I opened my mouth to answer,
Even as no words came.
The truth was that I knew what I was supposed to say,
But it wasn't what I wanted to say.
Well,
It's just that the first night we had so much fun.
I loved that.
I wanted to do that every night,
But the second night you stayed at the table and I did it alone.
I mean,
You didn't stop me.
I thought that you wanted me to do the dishes from now on.
I mean,
I guess it's not unreasonable.
I have been staying at your house for a while now.
I mean,
It can't be fun and games forever,
Right?
You made dinner,
So it's fair that I clean up.
I know how these things work.
You don't have to earn your keep here.
You're my cherished guest,
And it's my joy to serve you.
You're my friend,
And I enjoy when you're delighted.
His shoulders slumped slightly as if he just realized that he lost something.
When I asked you to wash the dishes with me,
The most important part of that was with me.
Honestly,
If I wished,
The dishes would do themselves.
I didn't need you to do the dishes.
I wanted you to do them with me,
To enjoy being with me,
To laugh with me,
To have fun with me,
To share your stories with me.
Last night,
I would have been thrilled if you'd sat at the table with me,
Drinking coffee and left the dishes to themselves.
I stood there stunned,
With the copper pot hanging from my hand,
Forgotten.
I'd missed an opportunity to sit across the table and drink coffee with my friend,
My partner,
My love,
And instead,
I had been elbow deep in soapy water longing for him,
Disappointed in my aloneness.
I felt so stupid.
Absolutely blind.
A pregnant silence hung in the air.
I didn't know what to say.
He took the pot from my hand and set it in its place.
Would you like to come sit outside on the porch with me?
I would love to,
Very much,
I said,
And we watched the sun set brilliantly,
With my head resting on his shoulder,
A quiet audience to the majesty of living,
Together.
Before we close,
Let's pause a moment to reflect on the story.
Take a slow,
Steady breath.
Imagine yourself at that table,
The smell of dinner still lingering,
The warmth of companionship nearby.
See yourself moving from the table into the kitchen.
Now gently ask yourself,
Where in your life have you mistaken doing for someone with being with someone?
How does that shape your sense of connection?
Are there places where you expect certain moments to repeat,
Rather than letting them unfold naturally?
How might that expectation affect your joy?
Can you allow yourself to be cherished and delighted in,
Without feeling that you have to earn your keep?
What might it look like for you to lay aside the soapy water of striving,
And instead sit at the table,
Drink coffee,
And simply be with the one who invites you?
Let these questions settle in you like evening light on the porch.
As you return to your breath,
Feel a sense of warmth,
The kind that comes from shared laughter,
A sunset watched shoulder to shoulder,
An unearned welcome.
Know that you are not here to perform or earn.
You are invited to be with.
Take one last deep breath in.
When you're ready,
Open your eyes,
Carrying that quiet sense of belonging into the rest of your day.
