I am beginning to learn. Slowly. Control is an illusion.
Anyone know the kid in school who organized their crayons by color?
That was me.
I find sorting and cleaning a calming endeavor.
If a room is 99% clean, I immediately see the other 1%.
I'm not sure why my brain works this way, but it doesn't work well in an actual home.
Inhabited by real people.
Who need to shower mud off their knees.
Who forget to flush.
Who eat way too many strawberries and then pay the price with an upset stomach.
Who know where the laundry hamper is, but just choose not to use it.
Who decide to play mud pies on a freshly cleaned back porch.
So why does it drive me to the edge of insanity some days?
Control.
Raising little humans is a messy business. We are in the years of mild messiness.
Toothpaste on the sink, if they remembered to brush.
Wet towels on the floor.
Lost soccer balls.
Toddler changing clothes at least 3 times a day.
Later, we will face things far, far more challenging.
Car accidents.
Drugs.
Broken hearts.
Drunk driving.
God is doing some big growing in me in this area of relinquishing control. I am overwhelmed at the thought of our son launching into the world, as we are over halfway through our years with him at home.
Better get crackin' on that training for life thing.
What does training these little humans look like?
Messy. I repeat. Messy.
And certainly we are training them to clean up after themselves, to be responsible, to love each other, to serve each other...but,
They forget and need to be reminded. 4787 times, I think.
Or they had a bad day and need a hug instead of hearing the voice of a perfectionist parent.
Or they are simply not motivated by money, sticker charts, or a scoop of ice cream.
Or sometimes, it's just not going to happen today, though truth be told, it's likely to happen tomorrow.
And I can so, so easily get mired down in details.
So I unraveled.
A little.
Last Sunday, I took the kids for the first bike ride of the season, as Drew was out of town for a few days. It was a warm and sunny afternoon, so of course every German in the country was out walking or biking.
The kids were a little rusty in remembering the rules of the road. We nearly caused no less than 5 collisions. We got chewed out by the locals. To the right. To the RIGHT. To THE RIGHT. TO THE RIGHT!
The crestfallen face of the 7 year-old who was struggling to remember which way was right burned in my heart.
We made it home intact. The girls asked if they could play outside on the patio.
Yes.
I cooked dinner. They played quietly. Lately, they like to dig in the potting soil. We have been getting ready to plant annuals, and we had cleaned and swept the patio and scrubbed the moss off the pots.
First I heard the yelling. Then I saw the empty water bottles. Then I saw the art project/box of chalk paste smeared over half the patio.
They made a mess.
Of course they did. Water. Mud. Making chalk paint. Messy girls with dirt in their hair. Who doesn't love that?
I forgot to love that.
I saw the mess, not the enjoyment. I looked at the house and over the course of an hour, I had mud, dirt, dirty dishes, dirty clothes, piles of laundry, and sand covering the floor mat.
Then a funny thing happened.
I grabbed the camera and got the 7 year old to stop crying.
I took pictures of the house and decided I needed to write after getting everyone in bed.
I downloaded the pictures to the computer.
How. Very. Interesting.
I looked at the pictures. They didn't look especially messy. I kept looking. The camera captured what actually happened, but my eyes saw things so, so differently.
How many more hundreds of times have my eyes seen only the negative, the untidy, the mismatched, the spilled, the forgotten, or the broken pieces?
I need new glasses, I think.
Growing in faith. Every. Single. Day.
