Mess

Oh cleanser of the mess I've made
Upon the hill our places trade
Stretched on a cross Your body crushed
By human hands You formed from dust

Oh cleanser of the mess I've made
Your boundless love for me portrayed
With patience for my learning curve
By holding back what I deserve

Oh cleanser of the mess I've made
With everything at Your feet laid
I watch as all my cares erode
And from my soul these words explode

How wonderful Your mercy is
How awesome are Your ways
I come, I come
To worship You
For all You've done


The last few days I have read much about mess.  I've been listening to Mercy River's rendition of "For All You've Done" and the line "Oh cleanser of the mess I've made" has stuck to me night and day.  I've been reading a few blogs (ones I regularly visit and some I have just happened upon) that talk about the beauty of messy lives.

My life is messy.

That's not to say that my life is a mess.  That insinuates that I don't have some degree of direction, which is untrue.  I am (slowly, very slowly) moving forward, reaching new heights, achieving goals, evolving, changing, becoming.  But day to day life with three boys and a baby is messy.

There are simply too many chores for all of them to ever be caught up at the same time.  Ditto for the laundry.  Until a few weeks ago, I only ever hand-scrubbed the kitchen floor twice a year.  Then, because I know James really appreciates it, I started doing it once a week.  Unfortunately, by the third day it looked as dirty and felt as sticky as when I'd been leaving it for months.  What's the point?

No organizing technique has managed to tame the piles of papers.  I'm pretty sure the toys multiply while I sleep.  Even the huge Lego table can't contain the wayward travelling pieces of plastic.

My blog is bare of photos.  So many blogs I read have wonderful photos accompanying the thoughts.  But three young boys never sit still long enough to create a lovely little shot, let alone me grabbing the camera and snapping something before someone is off again.

And yet there have been some beautiful moments.  And that, from what people have been writing about, is the beauty of the mess.  A Sunday afternoon when James was gone and the boys and I playing  board games.  Curling up together reading Robert Munsch.  Oh, and I can't forget tonight's Family Home Evening activity...papier machee craft to make an angel for our Christmas tree.  Oh yeah - there was flour and water everywhere.  And speaking of the tree, half the ornaments are on the floor and the other half are all crowded onto one section of the tree (cat and two year old.)  And the beads are either falling off or choking the tree.

My goal is still to be the eye of the storm - the calm in the middle of the mess.  I think I'm doing a lot better than before.  I seem to have an immeasurable amount of patience that is most definitely God-given.  It doesn't drive me crazy that I say something six times in a row before I'm heard; I like it much better than yelling and losing my temper.  And I think the boys are responding better to it.  I think they realize how ridiculous it sounds when I say the same thing over and over again (I do it like a skipping record.)

"Oh cleanser of the mess I've made." I am human, ergo I am messy.  And I'm okay with that.