simply homemaker

(an earlier blog this week – enjoy! )

When I was laid off from my job last March, I came home in June. I felt reassured in the Lord but slightly confused about my life. At that time, I had no job, no relationship, and no place I could truly call my own.

That summer, my childhood home in Hanoi became my true l’abri—my shelter. It’s hard to put that summer into words because it was such a tremendous blessing. I was about to spend eight months in an unfamiliar apartment (thank God that phase didn’t last longer, the only bright spot was living near Blair) before returning to the familiarity of my family home. I spent precious time with my grandma, parents, brother, and cousins. I reconnected with my middle school best friend and stayed with her for two nights in Saigon. I scrubbed my parents’ kitchen floor and replaced their dining table.

I’ve always been glad to come home, but this time was different. Coming home brought deep joy and comfort—it was healing in every sense.

From the outside, little has changed since I last came home. I still don’t have a job, a romantic relationship, or a place of my own. Yet I know so much has already transformed. I’ve come to know my Father so much better—His holiness, kindness, and caring hand. I’ve gained the courage to pursue a life of faith because losing what I once clung to allowed me to take hold of something new.

I’ve made homes in many places, even if only for short periods. I’ve traveled more than ever before. I’ve grown closer to my family, thanks to the extended holiday time I now have as a student. I’ve worked with a health coach and a career coach, both of whom were incredibly kind and helpful. I’ve let go of so many possessions—clothes, paintings, furniture—and simplified my life. It’s clear, to me, that my life is vastly different now from what it once was.

And you know what? I think I’ve gained so much through the process of losing what was never truly mine.

Every time I come home, there’s a bit of culture shock—especially since college. But with more frequent visits, the shock has lessened, and my adjustment period has shortened. I find myself integrating back into Vietnam’s rhythms, habits, and lifestyle more quickly than I ever imagined. The busy traffic still scares me, but I can cross the street. The amazing local food, once a special treat, now feels like a natural part of life during my six weeks here. I love the simplicity of not wearing makeup and just being a child in my parents’ home. It’s wonderful.

This home has been mine since I was two years old. Twenty-three years later, my parents still live here. It’s a modest apartment on the top floor with three bedrooms and one bathroom. Everything has aged. The walls bear cracks and memories. The light switches require a little trick to work after years of use. The furniture is a mix of old pieces from my childhood and items from a brief “trial period” when we lived elsewhere for a year before moving back.

By many standards, this home is too simple, too old, too “lived in.”

To be honest, when I came back last year, I thought the same thing: a rundown home in need of countless improvements. A home to be replaced. But not anymore.

Living in so many places over the past year has shown me the beauty of a “lived-in” home. A home where you can always return. A home where you know all the quirks and feel a sense of belonging. A home filled with memories. A home like mine.

This year, from the moment I arrived, my perspective on this home had already shifted. Though I see the imperfections and potential improvements, I also see a place rich with life and love. This is a home that has allowed my family to invest in experiences together, to support each other through schooling, and to find peace within the bustling city. It’s a home that nurtured my appreciation for simplicity, old things, and a laughter-filled life.

As I sit on my mattress on the floor (bed frames have been donated), I find myself cherishing every imperfect detail. The lights that buzz, the tiles that are cold in winter but delightful in summer, the faded family photos, the old blankets in the corner. The stickers my brother and I put on the dresser as kids. Even the patched walls remind me of the changes we’ve weathered together.

Despite its flaws, this home has always been a haven. Its connected rooms mean we’re never truly alone (a blessing for me, an extrovert, perhaps less so for my parents).

As I learn, make friends, travel, and live this short life to the fullest, I’m profoundly grateful for this home to return to. For parents who care deeply about the details of my life. For a roof over my head, as long as I have it. For this oasis in an ever-changing and restless world.

Here’s to loving our homes dearly while holding them loosely, trusting God with whatever lies ahead.

To loving the people in the homes we’ve been placed in, knowing we are called to love them as ourselves.

And to valuing what we have over what we lack, for thankfulness is the secret to true contentment.

Love,
Tram