What That Mess Really Means

“Do you have eyes but fail to see, and ears but fail to hear? And don’t you remember?” (Mark 8:18).

My family is hibernating. We’re on the tail end of an 11-day escape from school, work, and routines. It’s wonderfully liberating. And I’m going crazy.

Because my house is a mess.

I’m talking total disaster. It’s like Toys R Us blew up in my living room.

As soon as all the Christmas presents were unleashed from their packaging, my girls scattered new dolls, stuffed animals, coloring books, lip gloss tubes, plastic tea set utensils and Disney Magiclip figurines across carpets and tables and sofa cushions, so that everywhere I walk in this house, I’m tip-toeing through landmines. Valiant attempts are made to pick up throughout the day, but that’s the tricky thing about being on vacation—we’re all home and living in this space and making more messes every hour. I can’t keep up with my daughters’ enthusiasm for play time.

“Girls, can we please organize some of these toys?” I stood in the center of post-Christmas shrapnel and felt the urge to weep.

“Sure, Momma!” Giggling trickled from the girls’ bedroom down the hall. I followed the sound and found them kneeling on the floor together, rocking their new twin mini-dolls in their arms.

“Shhhh!” My two-year-old warned. “Babies are sleeping!”

“Oh, so sorry to disturb you.” I backed out of their doorway, smiling.

Suddenly that mess didn’t look so messy anymore.

A hundred times over the past couple weeks, I’ve thought about moms and dads in Connecticut who didn’t get to see their child open gifts this year. And not just there, but everywhere, in all corners of the planet, every day there are parents quietly reeling in heartache over what’s been or what will never be.

God gave me my kids today. Yes, they are loud and they are needy and they can’t seem to figure out how to put their socks in the hamper or their crayons back in the box. They bicker and spill and eat too much candy. But they are here with me, and they are healthy and happy and delightful. They hug my legs and tell me they love me. They beg me to make cake pops and color princess pictures as if nothing else in all the world matters more than sharing these moments together.

They’re right.

It’s outrageous how much I love them.

So that disaster in my living room? I’ve decided to celebrate it. Our mess, our chaos, is a sign that my home is filled with family. And I get to spend the day cluttering the house with them, my favorite people. Praise the Lord.

You see, the difference between a burden and a blessing is perspective. I’m training my eyes to detect joy in messy places.

Will you?

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Happy New Year, everyone. Thank you for stopping by this space each week to read and be encouraged. I appreciate each one of you and value your comments and support. For fun, I thought I’d share a list of my favorite Time Out posts from 2012—because even if you’ve already read them, we all need reminders, right? I know I sure do. I wish you and your families a year overflowing with faith, hope and love. As your fellow mom in the trenches, I look forward to writing for you in 2013.

Blessings,

Becky

Some favorites from 2012, in no particular order…

1. I Love You Lots and Cows
2. If You Give a Mom a Minute
3. The Witch. I Hate Her.
4. Why I Date My Husband
5. Don’t Lie to Me
6. Birthday Musings from a Sappy Mom
7. When You Don’t Feel Like Doing Your Job
8. How a Wiggles Movie Changed My Life
9. Queen of the Castle: A Fresh Perspective on Housework
10. I Should (Not) Do That
11. When Mom Wears a Dress
12. How to Raise a Timid Child

Linking up with: The Better Mom, Playdates With God, The Mom Initiative, Titus 2sdays, Grace at Home, and Things I Can't Say.

Unexpected Gifts

She meant it as a joke. I wanted an apron for Christmas, so my mother-in-law gift-wrapped her mother’s old home-sewn kitchen smock. Its faded chrysanthemums and frilly trim were nowhere near my style. I laughed like a good sport and stuffed the tattered apron in a cupboard drawer.

That was seven years ago. “Granny Apron,” as I like to call it, is now my culinary soul sister.

Our unlikely friendship began a few weeks after the holiday prank, when I was rolling pizza dough and collecting more flour on my sweater than on the bread board. In a moment of desperation, I grabbed the hand-me-down joke and threw it over my head. That night for dinner, my husband and I devoured the best darn pizza we’d ever tasted.

Coincidence? I couldn’t know for sure. So I wore the apron again to bake a cake, then muffins, then tuna noodle casserole.

At first our relationship was purely functional. Granny’s threadbare cotton soaked up smudges of olive oil and melted chocolate without a fuss, and her ugly print hid every stain.

After a while, I grew fond of the apron’s fit. It was cozy, flexible, feminine. The pleats hugged my bulging belly through two pregnancies, as if Granny was protecting those babies from random pudding spills and electric beater flyaways. Now sometimes, after I pull the last batch of cookies from the oven, I forget to take the apron off. My husband comes home from work to find Granny still tied around my waist.

Once upon a time, I thought I wanted a sleek new apron from Williams-Sonoma. Instead, what I received was acceptance into a line of comfort food cooks with their handwritten recipes and their love kneaded into every loaf.

That’s such a better gift.

Have you ever asked for diamonds and received a blender? Prayed for a heart’s desire and wondered why God gave you heartache instead? Maybe what you got was actually the better deal.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows,” (James 1:17).

Two thousand years ago, the world begged for a savior. God’s people eagerly anticipated a grand and mighty king. What they got was a baby, born in a stable from the womb of a teenage girl.

Unexpected? Yes. But definitely not the inferior gift.

In fact, it was the greatest gift of all time.

How will you receive it?

This week, may you unwrap the deeper meaning, and find joy not just in the gifts but especially the Giver. Merry Christmas, friends.


If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like Holiday Hangover, The Big Do-Over, and The Sound of Snow Falling.

P.S. I’m sharing a special story this week on Beth Steffaniak’s excellent blog, Messy Marriage. Will you join me there?

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Linking up with Playdates With God and Tuesdays Unwrapped.

The Sound of Snow Falling

Snowpants. Jackets. Boots. Gloves. Hats. Scarves. Hoods. Tissues in the pocket and chapstick on the lips. After a good 20 minutes of bundling and coercing, my kids were ready to venture outside.

Our first snowfall of the year.

The girls tromped onto the front lawn glistening three inches deep, while I stopped to unhook a shovel off the garage wall. Wet snow slid easily along my path, sparkly white mounds tinted pink and blue from sidewalk chalk we’d drawn just days before.

No matter what the calendar says, winter always seems to take us by surprise.

I settled into the hardy rhythm of pushing snow, listening to the clack of metal hitting cement, the steady swoosh of a shovel head sweeping across our frozen driveway. Behind me, my girls giggled and flapped their limbs on the ground, making snow angels. All around us, the silence of a gentle snowfall swirled in our ears.

“Mom—do you know what the goodest part of winter is?”

Straightening upright with the shovel in hand, I smiled at my five-year-old. “What, sweetheart?”

“Right here.” She extended a handful of packed snow, then raised it to her tongue and licked. “Mmm, yum!” A few feet away, my toddler, too, stood with a chunk of fresh snow in her mitten, lapping up the icy treat like it was a cherry Sno-cone in June.

A delighted chuckle rose from within my belly.

Winter’s not all bad.

I lifted my eyes. Huge, fluffy snowflakes danced slowly to the ground. No two flakes alike, isn’t that crazy? These intricate crystals—such a mind-boggling illustration of God’s infinite creativity.

Perhaps the true gifts of this season aren’t the shiny ones under the tree. They’re the little boot prints on my lawn, crisp air filling my lungs, a quiet afternoon to relish my children.

Gifts, not givens.

“He says, ‘Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress,” (Psalm 46:10–11).

What a welcome invitation. It begs for my soul this week, filled with festivities and heartache both. I rush and I wonder why. Until a snowfall makes the world pause for a minute. Then I look to the sky, and remember.

God is here.

He never left us.

He never will.

Enjoy the countdown to Christmas, my friends. I wish you all a little bit of snowy weather for your souls.


If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like Surviving December: Notes From a Type-A Mom, If You Give a Mom a Minute, Honey, Sweetheart, Sugar Pie, and God Doesn’t Ration Candy Bars.

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Linking up with: The Better Mom, Playdates With God, Mommy Moments, The Mom Initiative, Tuesdays Unwrapped, Titus 2sdays, Grace at Home, and Things I Can't Say.

When You Wake Up With a Foot in Your Face

Whoever said parenting squelches your night life never had kids like mine.

“Mommy?”

My eyelids popped open, startled out of sound sleep. Slowly, the hazy shape of a youngster appeared at my bedside, clutching a pillow in one hand and a doll in the other. She started to cry.

“What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

“My tummy hurts!”

Oh, boy. Here we go. I whipped off my covers and slapped two bare feet to the floor. With a hand on the small of her back, I led my five-year-old first to the bathroom for a Tums, then to the family room sofa. I tucked her beneath a warm blanket and stationed a bucket on her lap, just in case. Then I camped on the floor for the next two hours while she dozed on and off.

Nurse Mom sees plenty of nighttime action.

My kids wake at midnight from coughing fits and scary dreams.

They tiptoe to my bedroom in pitch darkness to inform me they need to go potty.

They crawl out of bed in tears because they can’t find a favorite stuffed animal tucked deep beneath the covers. They expect me to find it.

They talk in their sleep.

The bump their heads on the wall.

They’re hungry. So they tap my shoulder at 2 a.m. asking for a snack.

Sometimes they just want to know if it’s morning yet and can they please watch TV?

No, no you cannot. Not at 3 o’clock in the blessed a.m. Please go back to bed. Mommy needs her sleep.

I’m tired.

Very tired.

You, too?

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship,” (Romans 12:1).

Have you ever thought of fatigue as worship? It never crossed my mind, until a friend described her approach to surviving newborn feedings. “Every time the baby woke me up to eat,” she explained, “I prayed, ‘Lord, this is my sacrifice to you.’”

My sacrifice.

Think about that for a minute. Sleep loss is part of the parenting deal. Babies eat round the clock. Toddlers suffer night terrors. Teens drive the car to the basketball game. So we worry. We ache. We stay up too late scouring Pinterest or dropping JPGs into photo books because there is no earlier quiet time to indulge.

Energy is a luxury.

But this tired body, these burning, bloodshot eyeballs, these maniac tears dripping from pure exhaustion. Could it be? It’s all an offering of thanks—to the One who granted me the gift of motherhood.

Yes, my children mutate me into a zombie some days. But would I trade them for a lifetime of peaceful slumber?

Never.

“Sweetheart, how does your tummy feel?” I leaned over the sofa and brushed disheveled locks of hair away from my daughter’s eyes. Stiff muscles in my neck rebelled against their makeshift cot on the floor.

“Better.” She cracked a weak smile.

“Do you want to go back to your bed? You’d be more comfortable there.”

“No, Momma. I want to sleep in your bed.”

Of course. So do I.

I scooped her off the sofa and carried her to my room. She snuggled into the center of our king-size mattress and fell fast asleep. I listened to the gentle rhythm of her breathing, inhaled the scent of her strawberry shampoo, and watched her cheeks glow in the moonlight.

Sleep? Sometimes it’s overrated. In all my years of childless freedom, I never saw a nighttime scene so spectacular as this.

A few hours later, I woke to sunlight peeking through the window blinds—and the dull pressure of a foot shoved against my forehead. My daughter’s lanky limbs sprawled perpendicular across the bed.

Well, Lord, I thought, this is my crazy life. My sacrifice to you.

I am blessed beyond measure.


If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like When Sick Kids Cramp My Social Life, Taste of Candyland, and On Dreams, Contentment, and Spaghetti.

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Linking up with: The Better Mom, Playdates With God, Mommy Moments, The Mom Initiative, Tuesdays Unwrapped, Titus 2sdays, Grace at Home, and Things I Can't Say.

Should I Keep the Fat Pants?

My closet was ridiculous. “Cluttered” is a mild term—more like a black hole for outdated fashion and dust bunnies. The day I broke down and organized it, I unearthed artifacts from my honeymoon a decade ago—hey, beach sandals?! With Jamaican sand still stuck in the grooves, how nostalgic!

Shelves held neglected totes stuffed with diapers, college sweatshirts, and a gym bag full of yoga gear. I haven’t taken a yoga class since 2003.

“Mom, my nukkie!” My five-year-old discovered her old pacifier tucked in a purse pocket.

“Eeew! Don’t touch that!” I tossed the nuk into a garbage bag slumped on the floor, alongside a stack of clothes for charity.

Roomy clothes—affectionately called my fat pants.

What do fat pants have to do with everyday faith? Join me at Things I Can’t Say to read the rest of the story. I’m happy to be guest-posting there today!

 

Surviving December: Notes From a Type-A Mom

What do you get when you mix a toddler, a kindergartener, and a Christmas to-do list?

Definitely not peace on Earth.

“Don’t step there!” My hand jerked toward my two-year-old daughter’s ankles, but too late. Her foot crunched a row of Christmas ornaments arranged meticulously on the rug, prepped for hanging.

“I sorry, Momma!” Her sock hovered over a sparkly blue star, crushed into five pieces.

“I told you to stay on the sofa! Sweetie, if you want to help Mommy decorate the tree, you need to be very careful around the ornaments. Now it’s broken.”

Her bottom lip quivered, fat tears burst down her cheeks, and she ran out of the room.

Oh, great, I thought. Way to go, Mom. Now you’ve outdone your perfectionist self.

Just then, my five-year-old started wailing, too. “I liked that ornament! It was the best one! Waaaahhh!”

Gently, I placed the shards of star in my hand and sighed.

‘Tis the season. Heaven help me.

I love December. The decorations, carols, shopping, wrapping, parties, cards, baking—all of it. I’ve always loved it. So when my husband and I started a family, I imagined double the fun. Christmas through a child’s eyes is supposed to infuse the whole house with magic, right? I pictured rosy-cheek cherubs in footie pajamas, stirring marshmallows into mugs of hot cocoa while the whole family sings Jingle Bells.

In reality, my household looks a little different.

Oh, I have a couple rosy-cheek cherubs alright. Only they prefer to eat those marshmallows straight from the bag, for breakfast.

They tangle yards of garland into a useless heap.

They poke each other in the head with spatulas.

They spike fevers on Christmas Eve.

So you see? A perfect holiday portrait we are not. I’ll bet your family isn’t, either. But then, the only perfect thing in this world is God’s love.

And isn’t that what Christmas is really about?

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life,” (John 3:16).

A few weeks ago, I asked the women in my Bible study about their plans for Thanksgiving. Among a table of 30-something moms was one seasoned grandma. She is good for our souls.

“I don’t look forward to the holidays like I used to,” she confessed, “now that the kids are grown and gone. Most of them won’t be home this year.”

I started counting. My girls are 5 and 2. That means I have 13 Decembers left with both of them at home. Even fewer before they outgrow the magic. Before glossy toy catalogs give way to Aeropostale shirts and iTunes gift cards. Before—God forbid it—friends are more appealing than Mom. Someday, my girls won’t beg to help decorate the tree anymore. Maybe I’ll beg them.

And I’m freaking out about broken ornaments? Wow. It’s time to shift my priorities.

“Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom,” (Psalm 90:12).

This month, I want to snuggle in front of the TV, watching the Grinch and eating popcorn. I will choose not to notice how many kernels fall onto the carpet.

I want to bake six dozen cookies and let the kids crack the eggs. Spread the frosting. Lick palms full of sprinkles. And I will choose not to mind how many shells I have to fish out of the dough, or how lopsided the snowmen turn out. We’re baking joy into every bite.

I will drop my crazy to-do list on a whim, to sit beside the Christmas tree and let its twinkly spell wash over me. I won’t scold my kids for reaching to touch ornaments, or for shaking boxes placed under the tree.

It’s December with my kids. Messy and fleeting, and so, so precious.

“Momma, I sorry I broked da ordament. It was a accident.” My two-year-old wrapped her arms around my leg and kissed my knee. My heart swelled into my throat.

“I’m sorry I upset you, sweetheart.” I lifted her onto my lap and pressed my nose into her wispy hair. “I have a special job for you. Will you help me put candy canes on the tree?”

Her face lit up. “Can I eat one?”

{Sigh.}

“Sure.”

What the heck. It’s Christmas.

And I still love it. Do you?


If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like Time for a Change, Cut Me Some Slack, Little People, Queen of the Castle: A Fresh Perspective on Housework, and Wishing My Life Away.

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Linking up with: The Better Mom, Playdates With God, Mommy Moments, The Mom Initiative, Tuesdays Unwrapped, Titus 2sdays, Grace at Home, and Things I Can't Say.