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I recently took my first trip to Africa. One pre-dawn morning I decided to stop trying to fight my body clock and got up early. As I sat by our hotel window, I could see a shacklike house across the street, and its family stirring. My first feelings were of sadness. The house contained no more than a couple of rooms. There were piles of junk in every corner of their small ten-by-ten, bare-dirt yard. But as I continued to watch, my perspective changed. There were definite causes for sadness that trip, but this was not one of them.

As I watched the woman of the house, I realized what I was calling "junk" were their useful belongings. In the course of an hour, I saw the woman make good use of most of the tools in her yard—building a fire to prepare a meal for her family and tending to a small garden. The more I watched, the more I saw her care for her home and use her things well. Theirs was a "Velveteen House," where everything was well-used and full of purpose. In contrast, our culture creates "a house to look at" that covers the house in which we really live. For years I had towels that were not to be used, canisters lining shelves that held nothing, books that were purchased for the color of their cover, and most troubling, a guest room with no guests.

But as my husband, Troy, and I have intersected with people who have Velveteen Houses, we've been drawn in by the beauty of "a house of purpose" and have grown weary at the thought of a life of appearances. Many magazines are sold due to the appetite for the perfect mudroom, but we long for something deeper in our home than a well-organized drawer and more lingering than the perfectly executed party. As I have grown as a woman and as a mom, I've asked God fervently to help me see all the good uses of my home and its kingdom purposes beyond a place to put my things.

Having kids has helped us in our pursuit for "house purpose." With their explosion into the world, they've immediately made use of everything. Pots are drums, towels are capes, cushions are forts and dress hems are Kleenexes. Nothing is off-limits anymore. For my wedding, my grandmother bought me a few expensive hand towels that sat folded in a drawer for almost a decade. Then I decided that, much like the story of the Velveteen Rabbit, a beautiful linen towel wasn't going to be special if it was never used. The other day my son's friend came to the front door. "A turtle peed on me," said Connor, "Can I wash in your bathroom?" I know it's strange, but I smiled inside knowing he was using an heirloom to mop up turtle pee.

Along with the good use of our things, my kids have helped me realize the good use of our time and space. As they've grown, I've found hospitality to be a necessary part of teaching my kids about the gospel of Jesus Christ. In her book Real Love for Real Life, Andi Ashworth talks about the work and joy of intentional hospitality. "We are busy people. The assumption that our homes are private havens in which to retreat from the world has resulted in plenty of closed doors and closed lives. The home is a legitimate and necessary place for us to pull back from the public world …. But if that's all it ever is, we'll miss the rich fullness of the life God intends for us."

I've never been perfectly ready for the hospitality God has required of me, but I've always been blessed by it. In addition to the friends and family who have landed in our home at different times, we share much of our year with band members at various stages in life on a tour bus. When I first had my kids, I was at times overwhelmed with the people coming and going from our lives. But over the years, I feel that I am the recipient of a great gift. I wouldn't exchange the tight quarters for anything or the long conversations for any amount of solitude. And I feel blessed that my children are growing up in community on the road and in our own Velveteen Home.

Singer/songwriter and sometimes writer Sara Groves is married to Troy and mother of Kirby (7), Toby (4) and Baby Groves #3, who's coming soon. When Sara told Toby she was pregnant at Christmas, Toby said, "I already know it's baby Jesus." When she assured him it wasn't, he asked if it was John the Baptist.

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