There Were Crayons

Her walls. I noticed it right away. They had art on them. Not the poised framed kind, but rather the raw kind. The kind that asks a mom to be brave. To see what others don't see. 

Masterpieces.

Little fingers. Little hands. Sparkling eyes with heaven gaze. Walls losing white and gaining glory. 

Sometimes Mommy's are the bravest when they trade a yell for a yes.

I walked around her place my whole visit and just smiled. See this Mom used to want clean and "just so", more than child mess and wild joy. It was never that she wasn't a good mom, because she was. She is epic. One of the best Mamas I have ever known. But sometimes as Moms, we feel chased by dishes. Our floors get between our toes and aim to drive us mad. We can write grocery lists in the dust on that shelf over there... And toys pile high like mini Sears Towers. We twitch to clean. Mostly because we can feel like our messes are attacking us. They tell us whether we are keeping up with that good mom bit. They can hinder us feeling in control, and on top of our lives. How us Moms can chase this wind.

But her walls were telling me a different story. A story of love. Pudgy hands with crayons. Love that sees art in the messy, because souls live here. Here in these oopsies. Here in green lines that were a two year olds vision of flowers... Flowers put on walls for her Mama. So her Mama kept it there. These lines of grace gone wild glory. Because she is learning that the kingdom of heaven is laying gentle in hearts like these. Childlike hearts, where genuine, raw faith rests. 

Moms need air. We feel overwhelmed, crowded out, used, forgotten, and even unvalued at times. We work endlessly at correcting, protecting, teaching, and loving. Often we don't get thank you'd. We ache to be seen, dare i say told we are a good mother. Told that all our efforts, sweat, and crying in a pantry days have value. But sometimes it is us that miss the message. It is being told us, but in ways we are too quick to clean up.

Legos scattered are a child feeling free to create. An environment a loving Mama has worked to nurture. 

A messy attempt to make breakfast. Eggs broken and burnt toast roasting. A serenade of wanting to be like their mom.

Toilet water all over the floor, germ laiden brush in four year olds hand. A sign Mama has taught them to clean the needed things. Even the yucky things.

Messy beds made with stuffed animals still inside... An Ode to learning stewardship. 

And the walls. Crayons on them and maybe marker too. Thumb tacks holding up pages upon pages of Child Monet and Picasso giggles. Because sometimes the thank you is in the letting go. In the embracing that the rawest, most organic grace, is found in the imperfections of our long days. In the messed up holy of the glorious undone. 

Isn't Jesus like this? Didn't He sit with the unwanted things, the messy people, the ones society couldn't clean up? 

The voices that were tuned out...He heard.

The skin that was unclean...He touched.

The ones that were soiled...He noticed and called beautiful. 

He drew attention to the ones who chose relationship, and corrected those who chose the bottom line.

He stopped and noticed when his disciples told Him they had a schedule to keep. He chose the person.

He even noticed the dead... And gave back life. Life.

So maybe we have this mothering thing backwards. Maybe we think the wrong things are success.

What if we made Jesus way with people, His way with messes and unsightly things... Our philosophy? That beauty, redemption, hope, dare I say art...lie in these things. These people. These children.

Jesus said to let the children come to Him. He didn't ask us to clean them up first, teach them manners, fluent speech, and good behavior. 

He just said, Let. Them. Come.

Jesus never minded the raw. He never turned His nose up to the tattered. He didn't shun the gross. He didn't leave the undone for the perfect. 

He taught the perfect people lessons by glorifying the weak. 

I bet Jesus would have sat beside your child and colored on the walls too. And when you woulda walked in, they both would turn...eyes full sparkle and smile. What would you say about your wall then?

Perspectives huh? Yeah. Perspectives.

I want mine to be His. His perspective so buried in my mothering that it changes me. Changed my time, my tone, my technique, my ideas. After all, He chose me, and I am hopelessly messy. I know what this love tastes like, and I want my babies to know too.

So to this Mama who led me by example... Examples of crayons and colored walls...of seeing beauty in the undone glory of children... Thank you.

And Mama, you are doing great! Your children are so blessed to have you. You are a wonderful Mother, and I am so proud of you. 

To the rest of us Mamas... Let's notice the raw beauty. The Monet in our days of madness. We are all the broken beautiful.