The Blessed Mess

I look around and see things scattered everywhere.

School papers. Dishes. Shoes. Construction paper. Crayons. Clean diapers. Dirty diapers balled up and still sitting on the floor. Towels. Socks. Candy wrappers. Hair bands. Butterfly wings. Recipes ripped from magazines. Bottles. Scraps of toast from breakfast. Mildewing pumpkins. Incomplete baby books. Unstarted baby book. Water glasses. Week old newspapers.

Yes, you know the list could go on. And on. And on. And on.

The items, each of them, trigger anxiety in my churning mind. Items to do. Items to add to my calendar. Items I don't want to forgot. Items to be put away.

It's so much doing, running, striving, trying, exerting energy to get it all done.

This morning, during a few moments of quiet in the car as I drove to a doctor's appointment a song clicked onto the CD player. A song of worship. With lyrics that say, "I lift my eyes up, to the heavens. Where does my help come from?"

Eyes upward. Not outward. Why do I always forget that?

When we lift our eyes upwards, when we focus on God, when we offer Him worship and talk to him and ask him what he has in store for us on this day, the mental focus shifts. It always changes...from running to resting.

Rest doesn't always mean to stop completely, I remind myself (even though that would be nice some days!). It sometimes means to stop momentarily to regain your composure. To shift your focus from the lots of little things that can bring you down, to the bigger, more important picture.

When I lift my eyes up...to the heavens...to God...my soul takes a deep breath. I realize that all of the tasks that sit before me, the daily, sometimes mundane tasks, are all a part of the plan He has for my life. When I consider them in that light, they suddenly have purpose.

Then, somehow, magically, the kind of magic only God can do in my naturally anxious mind, when I look back down towards all that is in front of me I find myself laughing. I chuckle and smile and think about that silly Phyllis Diller quote that says, "Cleaning your house while your children are young is like shoveling before it stops snowing."

Now that's a bit of advice this Buffalo momma can relate too.

I find myself realizing that these items that surround me EVERYWHERE are the pieces of the beautiful and blessed life that we live.

I am a blessed woman. The mess is a sign that I am blessed.

And so I sat down to write this post. I had a very few minutes of free time and my choices were run or write. It used to be that I could fit both into my life...lately I'm increasingly finding that it's one or the other and so I must choose. Run or write?

The answer is often different depending on the day, but today the running felt too much like the crazy, hectic striving. The writing felt more like rest.

And so I'm writing my words, hoping they reach your heart today. Hoping they remind you that you are very blessed in many ways. That your mess is a sign that you are blessed and blessed abundantly.

Which seems like a very appropriate thing to remember in this month of Thanksgiving.


(the above photo was borrowed from Google Images)