My daughters ballet class entry way/waiting space is currently my favorite people watching spot.
The facilities focus on the arts, so there are people coming and going from music lessons, drama class, and dance lessons. For the hour that I wait, the space is a buzz with activity and commotion. I love it. I also typically bring some of my own with two boys in tow.
As my daughter was wrapping up and my boys were preoccupied with their kindles, I skimmed my book with lackluster interest. The scenes playing out before me were much more interesting.
A mom with four children walked in, and her arrival was noted by many due to the accompanying screams. In tow were two girls, the oldest who was there for dance, the younger about my daughters age, and twins. About 18 months old, she had one in a sling and was attempting to corral the other in her arms. Although she had the form of a dancer herself, I was in awe at her arm muscles to be able to keep both of the children suspended by her side.
She was waiting patiently at the desk for someone who was not to be found, but her son was having none of it. No matter her efforts he continued howling. On the floor, in her arms, bouncing, in the sling, playing with keys, nothing was helping. In the midst of this, her preschool age daughter was running back and forth to tug on her shirt and ask her several questions.
She seemed understandably frazzled.
Despite being rattled by her sons public display of displeasure, she wasn’t looking around at other parents to take in their potentially judgmental glances, she didn’t snap at her daughters requests, she just kept her head down and tried to deal with the situation at hand. And eventually her efforts worked.
As I observed the whole situation, I couldn’t help smiling at her beauty.
It seems an odd thing to notice in the chaos, but I was completely enraptured.
There was beauty and grace in the mess of it.
. . . .
Today marks one year since I started this little space where I attempt to write. There’s not a moment that I haven’t felt frazzled and disheveled. Even as messages of how words helped, encouraged, or affected some of you came in. Even as I got featured on a “big girl” blog. As things I wrote got shared or posted, or pinned. As numbers peaked, and then as they dwindled, I’ve felt out of sorts the entire time.
I’ve heard that’s kind of how it goes…that one doesn’t feel like a writer, even once they actually are one.
I feel like that’s how life goes.
I don’t really feel like a writer, or a great mom, or any sort of person that has her act together.
I’m frazzled.
And yet, in the midst of the chaos, I keep taking steps forward and trying the next thing. I try to deal with distraction in stride, and I believe that eventually I’ll get to my end goal, even though I’m still figuring out what that is.
Some may look in with judgmental or critical stares, but I’m doing my best to focus on the task at hand.
While I feel a bit unhinged in it all, I believe that there is beauty and grace in the mess of it.
I believe my Creator sees beauty in it all. That as I juggle all the things and four kids (one in transit), and life and loving, serving and giving and TRYING, that it’s a silent form of worship.
This space hasn’t been as pretty or put together as I would have hoped. I haven’t been able to do quite as much with it as I’d dreamed, but that seems to kind of represent my life right now.
For all the mess that has been, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your stopping by. Your checking in, comments and notes. It’s kept me from walking away, and it’s reminded me that if just one person hears something that encourages them, or speaks to them, or makes them feel like “me too!”, or finds a new regular recipe to use, it was all worth it.
Thanks for joining me in this, and finding beauty and grace in the mess of it with me.
