Messy

Spring is messy. Sure, it's beautiful with its blooming trees and budding flowers, but messy nonetheless. I walk outside and hear the ground squish, reminding me of the little mud-caked jeans I'll wash later that day. The house gets turned upside down as part of it's annual purging of the winter blahs. The ground is ripped open by farmers and gardeners. Green weedy gore is removed and new life put in. Messy work.

Monday was messy. We sluffed our sandaled feet through the 400 year old dust and gravel at Jamestown with the DeGoffau family. Cannons fired and we commandeered ships. We sat in the shade and revelled in PBJ's, sunblock and funny looking guys in costumes. But most of all we got messy and needed baths.

Potty training is messy. Isaiah is messy. He loves it. Messes mean nothing to him, but are an expected part of life. My task is to teach him what messes to glory in and which ones to nip in the bud. The young sapling needs a lot of tending yet.

Babies are messy. Especially crawling, runny-nosed babies. Dust bunnies stick to fleece clothes and mingle with goobers. Funny crusty things need to be chiseled off cheeks. Messy. Learning to stand leaves war wounds, but through tears and snot, bruises and blood, the warrior glories in it all. Victory comes through messes.

Bathrooms are messy. Not in the oft-used way (we do clean!), but in the leaky-toilet, spackle-dust everywhere sort of way. Little kids make messy holes in the walls. So a redecorating is in order. First make a mess, then restore beauty. Curling brown & blue wallpaper is not messy, just ugly. It will have to go. More mess. Bathrooms also are messy when men remove their beards. Clean cheeks leave messy counters. And confused children. Has Uncle Cal returned to visit??

Snow is messy. Yes, snow. Two inches or more of it, Saturday morning. Unearth the freshly washed coats and mittens and boots, stomp in the slush, stomp in the house, messy. We discovered which of our kids enjoy freezing messes and which don't. You'd be surprised at how quickly they turn "Southern." Snow is messy; I'll take it in the form of cones instead.

Good Friday was messy. Dirty feet, dirty dishes, betrayal, severed ears, denial, lies, beatings, death. Death is messy. And ugly. Some gloried in the mess, but for a while. All messes turn into beauty and life. That's how God does it. Over and over each Spring. Outside. Inside. Especially inside, in us. Gore removed and new life put in. Messy.