Beauty in the Mess

3 pink strollers. 1 oversized beanbag. 2 pairs of boots. Baby dolls that seem to multiply by the minute.

This is what I see right now. This is what I see at least 10 times a day.

I put them away and yet they always reappear.

I wrote a few days ago about learning to embrace the mess. It's a work in progress.

I recently saw an episode of Oprah where a young couple was describing the pain they felt after their 3 young children were killed in a car accident. Unimaginable. My brain could not even begin to comprehend the depth of their loss. Nor did I want to allow myself to. They described the first time they came home, without their precious babies. The quiet was deafening. The toys, the shoes, the mess was suddenly a reminder of the lives that were lost. They would give anything to hear the arguments, the feet running from room to room, the talking baby dolls.

The mess. The signs of life -- are a testament to the people who live and love here. I’m quick to judge it. I’m quick to be frustrated by it.

Heidi's booster seat is on her chair at our dining room table. Sometimes I hide it because it is bright blue and red, and sticks out like a sore thumb. But tonight I look at it and remember the way she giggled uncontrollably at dinner when London made a silly face. I see London's purse and baby doll. She loves to play "moms" with her sisters. She pushes her little stroller around the house and sings to her babies. I see Ava's backpack. I am reminded of the the incredibly beautiful, smart, sensitive girl she is becoming. I see the dress up clothes, coloring books, and sippy cups.

This is where we live. This is OUR LIFE.

Jonathan is fulfilling his dream of being a police officer. I am a stay-at-home mom again, and loving it. Ava is in first grade and is expanding her social life, away from Mom & Dad. London is spelling words and writing them on paper. Heidi is talking to me - full fledged conversations with a 2 year old - coming up with new words every day.

We are living into each new stage. The days, ordinary and beautiful.

I am pausing to notice. To honor this moment that I usually pick up and throw back into the place where I think it belongs. I am thanking God for the signs of life that sit scattered at my feet.

And I rest. Content. Blessed. Right there in the middle of the mess. And there I find more beauty than I expected.

People are the most important thing.

Boxes everywhere.

Our home was being reduced to boxes. The plates that Ava would set on the table while I was making dinner. The blankets we would cuddle under in front of our fireplace. It was especially hard to pack up the girls toys. They didn't understand that they would see them again. That the packing was temporary. But I understood their sadness. We were saying goodbye to our home. The one we dreamed of. The one we were so excited to move into. The one we loved.

I stood in the empty dining room and cried. I was feeling very sad. The type of sad that is suffocating.

And the doorbell rang.

A friend. There to help. Groceries in hand, thinking about the little things. Things like bubblegum shampoo and fruit roll ups for the girls. Luxuries that we had to pass on in the recent months.

A small gesture. A profound gift.

I thought of how my friend reflects Jesus—of how Jesus made people more important than His to-do list.  The faces that made him pause.

The woman at the well.
Zacchaeus.
The woman with the issue of blood.
His disciples.
Mary at His feet.

Stopping by to take fresh flowers to a friend who is hurting.
Making a meal for a new mom.
Noticing that the smile is missing from someone across the room, and offering a hug. A real hug.

All of life’s busyness can be overwhelming, but it's so important to make time for people. To pause long enough to notice. People just want to know someone cares. I just needed someone to care.

People are the most important thing.

I think about today's to-do list. A long list. Each task important and necessary. Even more important, that I leave room for names. People are the most important thing.

Where's my whistle?

Swimming is not fun.

At least not when you are a mom with 3 little girls.

Before having kids, swimming equated to laying on a raft for hours soaking up the rays.  With kids, it means sheep herding 3 little girls in the shallow end. Using arms, legs and whatever other body parts are available to keep everyone afloat. Constantly counting 1-2-3 to make sure everyone is above water and accounted for, while being simultaneously kicked in the face, stomach and other unmentionable areas. 

I am their lifeguard.

I keep a close eye and warn them when danger is near.  I allow them to cling to me when they are unsure.  I am there to rescue them when they have miscalculated, misjudged, or messed up.

I will watch like a hawk while she kicks in the pool. While she tries to solidify her independence in junior high school. While she pulls away from me in high school and forms her own relationships.

Then I will miss the days when she reaches out just to make sure I am still there.  When she jumps off the edge into my arms. When she manifests her trust in me with actions and words.  When a simple "Mommy's here" solves all the problems in the world.

She doesn't know that I cover her days with prayer. I do it for her. And for me. Knowing that someone else cares even more deeply for her than I. And that He also keeps a careful, watchful eye. Laying out her days, months, years, before she has even lived them. I have peace knowing that she is in good hands.