Grumbles to Gratitude

I walked through the door and my eyes scanned the scene.  Remnants of a chaotic morning littered the kitchen and living room.  Shoes strewn about the entryway, dirty plates stacked in the sink, crumbs besieged the countertops and floors.  The blankets lay in a crumpled heap on the couch, the decorative pillows scattered around the living room.  A pair of cat-eyed sunglasses lay forgotten in the corner, tossed on the floor days ago and never retrieved.  Muddy footprint puddles through the kitchen from a last minute trip into the house before heading off to school to retrieve forgotten items.  As I trudged through the rest of the house, deciding which of my to-do’s came first this morning, I became painfully aware of the disarray enveloping every living quarter.

I walked into the girls’ bedroom to gather laundry and was immediately overtaken by the clothes carelessly tossed about the room and a random assortment of toys laying in a tangle on the floor.  Grumbling to myself as I attempted to cultivate the chaos, I gathered the dirty clothes and plodded into the laundry room.  On my way, I stepped on a stray Lego that nearly pierced the heel of my right foot.  The shred of patience holding me together at this point snapped and my frustration blew up.  I probably looked like the little Anger meme from Disney’s Inside Out where fire explodes from his big red head.

“That’s it!  I’m getting rid of all the toys!  These kids have more than they need!  They don’t appreciate any of them!  They don’t take care of any of them!  They expect me to do everything around here!  I can’t take it anymore!  Is there even one place in this God-forsaken house that isn’t dripping with the clutter and chaos of kids?!”   There was no way I could cross anything off of my ever-growing list until this house was spick and span and the chaos brought into order. 

I grabbed a trash bag - preparing to ram it full of toys and drop it at the nearest dumpster before the kids returned to plead their case for why we should keep the random McDonald’s toy that lay half-hidden in the dust-bunnies under the couch and all of the other so-called treasures that littered the forgotten corners of our house.

The cat-eyed sunglasses were my first victim in the Great Toy Purge that had now magically appeared at the top of my to-do list.  As I grabbed ahold of them, however, an image flashed into my mind.  My precious little Bristol, laughing in exuberant joy as she pirouetted in the sunshine this summer.  Her dress billowing out in folds around her tiny body.  Those glasses barely propped up on her little button nose, doing nothing to protect her eyes, but everything to give her the sense of fashion she believed she had in that moment. 
I laughed out loud.  Thank you, Lord, for my baby Bristol.  I reluctantly put the glasses in a basket in the cupboard.

 My next target was the wayward Lego that had sent me through the roof moments ago.  As I searched through the matted down carpet to find it, another image came to mind - the eager excitement of my sweet Wyndsor as she carefully unwrapped her long anticipated gift last Christmas.  Her eyes lit up when she caught a glimpse of the box.  It was the Amusement Park Lego set she had named multiple times in her letter to Santa.  I recalled the time and care she had taken to put it together and the hours she spent playing with it quietly by herself.  My heart softened thinking of her tender spirit.  I carefully tucked the piece in my pocket so I could return it to her Lego table.  Thank you, Lord, for my gentle Wyndsor Grace.

Grant’s room was my next objective.  I opened the door and the smell of boy accosted my nostrils.  His laundry basket was overflowing with a mix of clean and dirty clothes.  My eyes rolled as I set my jaw, grumbling to myself that he was doing his own laundry from here on out.  As I sorted through the clothes, however, I couldn’t help but think of the loads I had done for him over this last year.  Sweaty basketball socks, grass stained baseball pants, muddy football jerseys - this kid’s hamper had seen it all.  I remembered how he had strutted around the kitchen in his very first football uniform, his eyes bursting with pride.  I remembered the last minute shot he took at the buzzer to put his Falcon’s team up by one to win the game against Sacred Heart.  I remembered him coming home from his baseball tournament, wearing most of the infield on his jersey, but also wearing his first gold medal around his neck.  My heart skipped a beat and I grinned at the memories.  Thank you, Lord, for my kind, yet tenacious Grant-man.

In those moments, God stopped me in my tracks.  These things I was grumbling about were actually remnants of precious moments He had given me.  I hit my knees in thanksgiving and praised God for the gift of children.

We all have times where we feel like the chaos of kids is going to send us into the looney bin.  In the moments of frustration that morning, the mess shrouded my consciousness.  It became all I could see.  But God sees differently than we do.  In those moments, he used the remnants of the chaos to remind me of His blessings.

With His gentle nudge, I allowed myself to live in the world of what if for a minute.  What if I didn’t have all of this chaos? 
What if I didn’t have all of these to-do’s that go along with raising kids? 
What if it was just Ben and me?

I envisioned a life simplified, cleaner, more organized. 

If I had the choice to turn back the clock and live in that simplified, kid-free life, I would have to turn in all my memories that came with the chaos.  I immediately realized that that simplified life was missing something.  It felt so empty.  I knew that there was nothing in this world I would ever trade for the precious moments I had recalled this morning, nor any of the ones that remained buried in my consciousness for another time of reminding. 

 I know there will be a day that my house is in order.  The shoes will be stacked nicely on the shoe rack.  The toys will be gone.  The floor will be clean.  But those days only come when my children are gone.  So, instead, I find myself grateful for the discarded sunglasses and the stray Lego and the loads of dirty clothes… because they are all bits and pieces of the greatest blessings God has given me.

Let us be reminded to be thankful always.  Not just when the calendar tells us to, but also when the chaos threatens to overwhelm us… maybe especially then.

And also consider this…
We all have a mess we are living in.  It might involve kids.  It might involve marriage. It might involve in-laws or co-workers or siblings.  It might involve finances or confidence or loss. 

But there’s good news:
God intends to turn those messes into His message.  I challenge you to pause and find a reason to be thankful in the midst of your mess right now.  Turn your grumbles into gratitude and praise Him who gave us the greatest blessing of all: Jesus came to clean up our mess.  He can bring our chaos into order. 
He is willing to call us His children, despite the messes we make.

And so, He is worthy of our gratitude.

 In the fire with you,
Toni 

 Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances;
for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.
1 Thessalonians 5:16-18