I don’t do messy.
I’ve noticed, this year, that all my mommy/daughter activities involve very little mess. I plan it that way. I realized today that I am missing out on messy memories. Ones that Naomi will look back and remember having fun with her mom in a messy kind of way. I’m sure she will feel loved in those messy moments. Why am I withholding a wonderful way to show my daughter that I love her? Just because I’m afraid of messes? This seems silly when I really think about it.
I really need to get over myself. Maybe I should go roll in the mud or something. The very thought of this action makes me cringe. However, I think it would be good for me. For the rest of the year, I’m going to try to do something messy once a week. We shall see how I do. I’m excited about the memories, but I’m terrified about the mess at the same time.
Jesus was messy. There was nothing sterile about what he did. The Gospel is messy. Why can’t I embrace the very foundation of my faith and be messy? Perfection gets in the way and I just want things to be predictable and easy. Predictable is not messy. It’s well…predictable. Sterile. Clean.
I like things to be clean.
Naomi likes things to be messy. Our relationship suffers because these two idea collide. I think there’s a time to be messy and a time to be clean. I need to be okay with messy…at least from time to time. (Can you tell I’m trying to convince myself?) I think I’m ready to embrace the idea of messy.
Maybe I’ll start next week. When I can clean the house first.