This morning I sat surrounded by the mess of motherhood with school books in hand as my daughter begged to braid my hair while we read. The boys sat cross-legged…momentarily…before wiggling into a hundred different positions. The two littlest ones played a giggle-filled game of peek-a-boo. All this taking place in my living room where blankets and toys littered the floor from their latest game of make-believe.
From the outside looking in, it had to look like pure chaos because it felt like pure chaos from the inside. In the middle of the lessons and the mess, it was hard to see beyond the mess to anything else. It’s easy to let the mess eclipse the moments—to focus on the mess instead of the people.
As we wrapped up lessons for the day, I sighed a sigh of relief that we were done and a sigh of resignation that everything really truly was a giant mess that would need to be cleaned up yet again. “Why, oh why, does motherhood have to be so messy,” I grumbled to myself.
A New Perspective
However, this evening I picked up my phone and saw the picture my daughter had snapped of the braid I had let her do on my hair. At that moment—somewhat removed from the mess of the morning— I could see beyond the chaotic mess.
I could see the toddler and realize that pants or no pants she was perfectly content to play and share her joy with us. She didn’t need a perfectly put-together playroom with my undivided attention.
I could see Rattle Rattle Pop, the beloved stuffed snake, upside down where my four-year-old had dropped him in his excitement to see the robins perched in the tree. He didn’t need a spotless window to gaze at them in wonder. My window with the fingerprints and nose smudges worked just fine.
I could see the blankets and pillows—not as stuff that had been dragged out to make more work for me to clean up, but as the imaginary ships the boys had sailed in as we read about the men who explored the New World. They didn’t need elaborate or expensive model ships. Instead, blankets, imagination, and the freedom to play were plenty.
I could see the braid my daughter had lovingly done in my third-day hair. She didn’t need me to be perfect, she just needed me to be willing to be close to her and let her play.
I could see myself in the midst of the chaos, and I could see that I was right where I was supposed to be—present.
I could see that the mess itself is beautiful even or, maybe, especially in the chaos.
Lessons in the Mess of Motherhood
Did they grasp the lesson in spite of the mess? I think so—they were talking about Little Pilgrim and 1,000-year-old trees later so I know they got something out of today’s lessons. Whether or not the lesson on percentages was understood…well, the verdict is still out on that one.
Did I grasp the lesson for me today? I think so, though I’m sure I’ll have to be reminded again.
I’ve been thinking about how:
The mess is where memories are made—memories of imaginative games played, little feet scampering, hugs shared, and books read. Memories made in the mess of motherhood become treasures in our minds.
The mess is where relationships are forged—relationships between siblings, relationships between parent and child, relationships between ideas and concepts. Relationships forged in the mess of motherhood bind us together.
The mess is where character is formed—perseverance, kindness, loyalty, and more all take shape in the middle of life’s messes. Character formed in the mess of endurance shapes us into resilient humans.
The mess is where we realize our utter dependence on our Savior—in our weakness, his strength is made known and his grace is always sufficient. Our dependence on our Savior in the mess of motherhood is the lifeline that saves us.
Motherhood is messy, but I’m choosing to find beauty in that mess. I hope you can too.
