Originally published Tuesday, 03 February 2015.
Today, I moved the furniture out of the way to scrub baseboards and walls. I picked up toys, wiped away little fingerprints, and wished for the power to wiggle my nose and have the satisfaction of every room in my house spotless without much effort.
It didn’t happen but the family room is clean.
I look at toys strewn across the floor along with the growing mountain of laundry, and at first glance, I want to take a garbage bag and just start throwing away all the clutter. But I can’t.
My clutter cries joy.
It’s the chaos for which I waited, prayed, hoped and dreamed.
My clutter cries restoration.
Sometimes, I think a woman who has suffered years of infertility, miscarriage, and stillbirth has an even greater struggle with mommy guilt. I had a much longer time than most to prepare for this. I often think to myself, "God gave me exactly what I prayed for and this is the way I’m handling it? This is how I’m keeping my home?"
It’s not how I thought it would be.
I’m not who I thought I would be.
I thought I would be June cleaver. Seriously.
I expected to be so joy-filled from having not only one baby, but two (at the same time, mind you.) that the long awaited joy would fuel more energy. I thought my weary days were behind. They are not.
But here's the thing: my clutter is a reminder of hope.
The toys and fingerprints, that are everywhere from the front door to the back, are reminders of answered prayers and love. They are proof of the sure hope that exists in my life.
My God. My savior. My Redeemer. My Friend. My only Hope!
The bottom line is this…
If we love well with a thankful heart and praise-filled attitude… joy will come.
Joy will come even in the middle of chaos and clutter.
Joy will be the curly headed little person who spills their chocolate milk.
Joy will be the blue lip marks on your face from a big kiss after a raspberry icy.
Joy will be the pulling of your hair as she plays salon.
Joy will be in the crumbs on the couch.
Joy will be everything you thought it would be… only different.
Love,
Jennifer
SHARE
