It had been quite a day. Matt and I were brushing our teeth together in our smallish bathroom. We had been arranging and rearranging ourselves at our smallish sink, spitting and rinsing in succession. We were both exhausted.
I'd stayed out late at a friends house, who at forty weeks pregnant, was in the beginning stages of pre-labor and I had joyfully began helping her time some contractions. After a few hours, though, movement slowed down and subsided, and we went our separate ways, seeking rest.
Putting our toothbrushes away, the cupboard door slapped shut with umph. Instantly, a stack of objects came falling off the top of the cupboard, nearly missing our heads and meeting the floor with force. Shocked, and grateful we weren't hurt, we looked down at our bare feet, suddenly vulnerable, now surrounded by glass. As Matt sought the broom, I picked up the frame, read the words and smiled reluctantly.
The messes of my afternoon came to mind.
I'd put out fires all afternoon with the kids, whose emotions were high and their behavior unthinkable. While making dinner, I'd even snuffed out a real fire using dry pancake mix, (because that's all I could find!) I had stood on a toddler sized wooden chair to silence the smoke alarm and along with it tried to silence my annoyance that it was after 6:00 and Matt was still at work.
Mess after mess after mess.
I had arrived at my friend’s house overwhelmed and vulnerable and anxious. My heart had felt the way a person's head looks after someone rubs an inflated balloon over it, all the hairs standing on end.
The beauty and excitement of those hours with her and her husband had been enthralling. Each contraction took her to a deeply present place, rimmed with awe, and I found it utterly contagious. It had been so easy watching her let go of control and trust the process. It had been steadying.
But now I was snapped back into my own life, my own chaos, my own mess. “Why were those things stacked up there like that?” Matt asked, confused. I was at a loss, “it's been that way for weeks, I don't know why they fell all the sudden.” We cleaned it up, barely noticing or appreciating our unity, the ease of our motions, the flow that is “us”, and crawled into bed.
I think the messes of life are tiny thresholds. Invitations. Daily in-between places that remind us of how quickly life can change. Like right before the sun comes up in the morning. It's almost there, but not quite yet. The messes are inviting us to keep going, not to give up.
One minute I'm brushing my teeth, the next minute I'm standing in a puddle of glass.
But then the next moment I'm in connection with someone I love, brought close by our need for help and safety.
To bless these moments is to cross through them.
To bless the mess it to embrace the mess.
To bless the mess is to acknowledge that it is a passageway into love. Into letting go. Into asking forgiveness. Or for help. To bless what's hard is to remember that there is no shame in life being hard.
There is no shame in making mistakes.
It is to remember that life unfolds with what seems like suddenness when really that stack of stuff has been inching it's way over the edge for weeks. Just like the sun has been coming up all along. Just like that baby has long been making it's out even before we can ever see it.
One minute you're cooking dinner, the next you're putting out a fire.
But it's like that for everyone, trust me.
So, keep moving through the messes and the chaos and the hardest, darkest, most anxious and unthinkable moments. You're only in the threshold.
I help my clients embrace the messiness of life and discover the beauty that comes from crossing through our individual thresholds. These difficult and painful situations are not meant to be faced alone. Call me and you'll not only get support, but also healing and positive change too.