Beautiful Mess

I’m spending each day here in the month of October writing about finding beauty in the everyday mess.  Before you think I’m an expert on this topic, let me confess: I’ve likely already lost my temper, prayed that I could have a solo vacation, and held back frustrated tears this morning.  I’m far from having this mastered.  I’m writing here transparently so that you and I might grow in seeking His daily extravagant beauty.  So pull up a chair and get ready to dive into the mess with me, knowing that somewhere in this mess is a beauty that only God can craft.

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Aeralind is standing there with her sister in her leotard and new pink slippers. I’m turning out their feet and showing them first position.

“Good!” I assume first position myself. “Now we plie.”  I show them how to squat with our knees angled out.

Both girls bend too far down and with knees popped forward despite their turned out feet. I stifle a laugh at their awkward adorableness.

“Not quite like that. Let me help you.” I bend to help Bronwyn bow out her legs.  After a few minutes fumbling we find a plie that looks a bit more graceful.

Then I turn to assist Aerie. Her face is crest fallen.

“I don’t want to do it.” She announces. “I’m so sleepy.” She climbs up on the couch and watches her mommy and sister try to move past awkward while attempting plies in second position. I convince her to join again for a curtsy to end our impromptu library book inspired lesson.

Aeralind and Bronwyn both curtsy like a praying mantis on stilts. I smile again at their cuteness.

“I’m not good at this.” Aeralind sulks and climbs back up on the couch.

Perfectionism kills joy and stifles learning, even for a 3 year old.

Let me say it again: Perfectionism kills joy and stifles learning.

The Giver of all good things, He gives us these days.  The days where the toddler boy refuses to nap and the days where he asks over and over to “guggle.” He gives me the days where Aeralind pouts over imperfect ballet form and the moments when she cups my face in her tiny hands and whispers, “You’re my favorite mommy.” Jesus gives me those moments where Bronwyn and I wrestle hourly with her strong will and those rare days when she grabs my hand quietly at the library when it’s time to leave.

When I, through perfectionism, define what is the best gift for me, I am doing two things:

1. Committing the original sin in the garden. I am saying I want to be as God. I want to determine for myself what is a good and perfect gift.
2. I am utterly refusing to see and give thanks for the beauty, the extravagant grace, in all of my mess. On those days when nothing goes as I have planned, is not the Lord refining my heart and teaching me patient perseverance? Isn’t that just as good a gift as a day of rainbows and sunshine topped with excellent behavior and a fun activity?

So how can we accept the beautiful gifts he gives even when they’re hard?

Just whisper yes when He gives and lean into Him.

And let go of your vision of perfection. It will never satisfy like Jesus does.

I’m spending each day here in the month of October writing about finding beauty in the everyday mess.  Before you think I’m an expert on this topic, let me confess: I’ve likely already lost my temper, prayed that I could have a solo vacation, and held back frustrated tears this morning.  I’m far from having this mastered.  I’m writing here transparently so that you and I might grow in seeking His daily extravagant beauty.  So pull up a chair and get ready to dive into the mess with me, knowing that somewhere in this mess is a beauty that only God can craft.

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I”m not going to lie.

There are days where I  want to give up this whole mothering gig.

Days when my husband comes home and tells me how bored he and his coworkers were that day.  How they all picked up ping-pong paddles and had an impromptu tournament.

I held a flailing toddler today for 20 long minutes while he screamed because I didn’t realize we were out of milk before I offered him some.  His sisters piled on me too and he pushed them and we all waited for our daddy/husband hero to bring home some milk.

I’m terrible at ping pong; I’ve actually been given a black eye playing ping pong.  Yet, I’m pretty jealous about that spontaneous tournament while I dealt with little hearts and big messes.  My work is hard and relentless here at home; I’m not sure I’ve ever had a boring day.

There’s yogurt on my table and my counters need clearing.  There’s laundry strewn from kitchen to hamper and toys all over, too. And if I stop scratching this pen on paper to clean it all up, it’ll all just explode in the morning.

So I step away from it all for just a moment to wait with pen in hand for the Lord Jesus to speak to me and maybe, through me, to you as well.

And Jesus whispers just these words over my soul:

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:19-20 Emphasis is mine.

He says this to me as I write softly standing in the kitchen:

“I AM with you.  I see you. I hear your sorrow over creation undone and hearts wound up in sin: yours and theirs alike. I am with you when you fail. I am with you when you cry and repent. I am that glimmer of hope, that perfect record. I AM. I see. And I remember what it was like to want to give up.“

I’m spending each day here in the month of October writing about finding beauty in the everyday mess. Before you think I’m an expert on this topic, let me confess: I’ve likely already lost my temper, prayed that I could have a solo vacation, and held back frustrated tears this morning. I’m far from having this mastered. I’m writing here transparently so that you and I might grow in seeking His daily extravagant beauty. So pull up a chair and get ready to dive into the mess with me, knowing that somewhere in this mess is a beauty that only God can craft.

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She’s almost crying as she laughs and tells about the absurdity of her day over our bowl of shared popcorn.

There were chocolate bars thieved from the pantry before breakfast. Chunks of beautiful thick hair strewn all over the kitchen. A toddler had used a bucket of mud to paint the bathroom door iron oxide red.

We all smile knowingly, and whisper consoling words. And all three of us laugh when she whispers that she thought about sampling a hand-crafted beer while she cooked dinner in silence with the misbehaving children on their beds.

This two hour period every other Tuesday night is our Oasis. We laugh, we cry, we vent, we point each other to the gospel. But most of all Tuesday night is where I enter most fully into the body of Christ. These two ladies and I share our daily mess in a real way, we encourage each other to keep loving, and we deal with the sin in our hearts.

We meet to drink deeply of the grace of Jesus Christ that sustains us.

This type of community is new to me. I am an introvert. Lots of people see me comfortable in a leadership roll and assume the opposite. But when my type A personality isn’t in charge, I shrink to the status of wall flower. I’d rather go repelling off cliffs than try to make a friend in a group of people. Even the social interaction of a photo session with a client often wears me out. Add in the pressure of mompetition and you’re likely to find me quiet at most every social event.

Yet, I still crave meaningful heart level interaction and sometimes leave social events in tears. I still feel like I’m the only one.

My Tuesday Night Oasis did not happen by accident. I singled out a group of 8 women who I wanted to get to know more. I invited them over to read a book together and promised chocolate. Chocolate had all 8 of them show up…. or maybe they sort of liked me. The group whittled itself down to just us three within 6 weeks.

One of the girls I have known for 5-6 years in various settings. I’ve always liked her, but it took a very structured time for us to both open up. The other girl I invited based solely on a single conversation at a Mom’s night out.

I had waited nearly 6 years after leaving college to make real friends. And these two (and a few others) are finally here. But here’s what I wish I had known: Hospitality, even in the midst of your daily mess, and a willingness to share is what creates the space for friendship. Don’t wait for friendship to find you. Instead, seek out the people you want to know better and let Jesus work out the details.

I’m spending each day here in the month of October writing about finding beauty in the everyday mess.  Before you think I’m an expert on this topic, let me confess: I’ve likely already lost my temper, prayed that I could have a solo vacation, and held back frustrated tears this morning.  I’m far from having this mastered.  I’m writing here transparently so that you and I might grow in seeking His daily extravagant beauty.  So pull up a chair and get ready to dive into the mess with me, knowing that somewhere in this mess is a beauty that only God can craft.

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I drank toilet water the other day.

My son was drinking water from my nightstand glass.  He set it down after a small spill and rather than let him dump it everywhere when I wasn’t looking: I picked it up and drank it down.  A couple of minutes later he comes back carrying a now full glass.  I scratch my head.  I didn’t hear the tap running.  I check the bathroom and sure enough there is a tell tale dribble of water from the toilet to the door.

I drank toilet water the other day.  And I’m pretty sure I might be the only one who has ever done that.
(If you’ve done it too, please share your story in the comments. I need to hear it.)

The innocent face of the little servant-hearted boy who tried to poison me. If he wasn’t so adorable…

But being ashamed of drinking toilet water, even if by accident, got me thinking.

Sometimes I’m so afraid that what I’m going through is unique to me that I’m embarrassed to tell the story.  Thoughts like “I’m sure everyone else’s babies sleep through the night by 6 months.” or “Surely no one else has ever had to physically and lovingly restrain their child through a tantrum.” or “I’ve got to be the only mom in the world who is jealous of her husband’s business travel.”

Dear one, you are not the only one.

You’re not the only one who has wondered if the three year old who can’t recognize the number 1 after a whole two weeks of instruction on just that one concept needs early intervention.  You’re not the only one who has left your screaming infant on the bed while you yell angry prayers at the sovereign God of the universe.  You’re not the only one who eats a chocolate chip cookie after that nasty fight with your husband.  You’re not the only one who wonders if everyone else lives this Pinterest perfect life while you just can’t get anything right.

When we feel like we’re the only one, Satan is using shame to isolate us. (<— Click to Tweet)

If you or I plucked up our courage and shared our everyday mess, we’d likely find community with it’s arms outstretched.  We’d find a friend in the mom sitting right next to us wondering if she was the only one.  And a friend would preach us the gospel in our weary moments and we would return the favor.  And that threefold cord of friendship, it binds a heart against the deception Satan wants us to believe.

That brave moment when you say, “I may be the only one who experiences this, but the other day….” frees you and the listener from the shame that keeps us both pretending we live a life of perfection.

Tell about us about your hard moments right here in the comments, and watch that sharing tear down the deception of perfection.

I’m spending each day here in the month of October writing about finding beauty in the everyday mess.  Before you think I’m an expert on this topic, let me confess: I’ve likely already lost my temper, prayed that I could have a solo vacation, and held back frustrated tears this morning.  I’m far from having this mastered.  I’m writing here transparently so that you and I might grow in seeking His daily extravagant beauty.  So pull up a chair and get ready to dive into the mess with me, knowing that somewhere in this mess is a beauty that only God can craft.

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My clean laundry monster roars loudly from its 3 foot by 5 foot space on the living room floor. I wash a single load every day at least, but folding doesn’t always happen. Okay… if I’m lucky it happens once a week.

A quick walk around the corner reveals a kitchen with many things placed haphazardly all over the counter, safely out of reach from the toddler boy, and still so far from their permanent homes.

At least one of my bathrooms resembles a war zone and likely two (I avoid my daughters bathroom). My son is still wearing his pajama shirt. There’s a pair of sawhorses in my kitchen still waiting on me to return to a friend I’ve seen 4 times this week. A pile of cheerios smiles smugly from under a coffee table.

On days like this the mess threatens to overwhelm me like riptides in the ocean. The whole mess just sweeping me out of my right mind and into a deep ocean of lies.

“You’re never going to get it together.”
“You’re such a slob.”
“You really ought to stop pursuing dreams and just do the things all mothers are supposed to. I mean if you’re not faithful in the small things….”

Sometime the mess drowns out the still small Voice whispering that we have a beautiful purpose. (<— Click to Tweet)

That pile of laundry attempting to drown me should whisper a different story. The story of how I chose to sit outside and laugh as my children rolled in mud after a string of rainy days. The story of faithful disciplining being necessary each time I set out to tackle the laundry monster, or the kitchen, or that foul bathroom downstairs. The story of two little girls sitting near me and begging for one more chapter of The Tale of Despereaux. The story of a little boy with his head nestled into my neck whispering to me about the “Wowls” on his wall. The story of hundreds of other sticky spots that were wiped up or boo-boos kissed or dishes washed or meals cooked and consumed or blog posts written that encouraged just that one person that I may never meet.

The true story of our days should not be hidden by the roar of the laundry monster.  The true story of our days is that we’re investing our lives in people (large and small) who God has intentionally placed next to us.  Sometimes our true callings and our God-given beautiful purposes crowd out the laundry.  That’s the more important work and while it’s not measurable, it’s certainly more beautiful.