A Beautiful Mess

Our theme this year in MOPS is “A Beautiful Mess”. Can you relate? On a good day, I can relate to the “beautiful” part. On pretty much any day, I can relate to the “mess”.

 

I am messy. Very messy. I have been this way since I was a young, young girl. I have many childhood memories of being banned to my bedroom as a kid, not permitted to come back out until the room was cleaned to my mom’s satisfaction. In elementary school, my desk was so messy that I was once relegated to the hallway to clean it. High school? If you needed a moldy banana for your science project, you’d probably find it in my locker. My roommates in my first apartment wouldn’t look in my bedroom if they could help it, and the first time I got my own place? Eeek! Even I didn’t want to look if I could help it.

 

I always thought that I would eventually learn the art of being neat, tidy, and organized. You’d think it would come naturally to me. In my own head, I am super organized… obsessively so. That’s the melancholic half of my personality. But I’m also half phlegmatic, and that side wins when it comes to the way I care (or don’t care) for my personal space. And so here I am, thirty-four years old, a wife and mother of four, and have really not come very far at all down the road towards cleanliness.

 

My emotions about all of this vary, depending on my mood and the circumstances of the season. Sometimes I really just don’t care. Other times I’m frustrated by it, and stressed out. I have been irritated with myself. I’ve been inspired to make myself promises for the millionth time. Sometimes I feel inferior, or gross, or defective somehow. There’s a shame attached to it… it can make me feel like a failure as a wife and mom. My home isn’t worthy of Pinterest or surprise visitors. It’s a home to keep hidden… to keep the doors closed. There’s nothing positive about this character flaw of mine.

 

Or so I believed… until a crazy thought came to mind the other day. What if I’ve been looking at it all wrong? What if, instead of seeing my messy environment as a result of my weakness, I saw it as a result of my blessings?

 

I’ve taken this thought and run with it, and the result has been huge. My eyes have been opened to the true meaning behind each piece that contributes to the mess. Those dirty dishes piled in the sink? They mean my family ate well last night. The books tossed around the living room? They made it possible for little guy and I to have story time. The gross bathroom? Means we have indoor plumbing and money for toothpaste. The pine needles on the carpet? It was sunny enough, and my kids were healthy enough, to enjoy going outside. And the messy house as a whole? The dozens of things scattered throughout every single room? They mean I have a home that is full. Filled with little ones, and not-so-little ones, and a husband, and a ME… and every bit of mess is just evidence of the joy that went before it. 

 

And that’s beautiful. Happy New Year.

 

--Cyndi Sparre