Fine Young Men

Recently, Riece and I spent several hours helping some friends move.  I busied myself with loading furniture into the moving truck, packing boxes and cleaning.  Riece busied himself with entertaining our friends' small children, guiding them through helpful tasks.  He gently directed, redirected, and encouraged.

Riece and I would both giggle at our our friend's young son, Isaiah as he would lavishly compliment each of us ladies who had shown up to help.  Whenever I carried a box past Isaiah, he'd say, "Ms. Mel, you are so pretty!"   By the afternoon, the compliment shifted, ever so slightly, to "Ms. Mel, someday you will be so pretty!" sending Riece and I into fits of laughter.  Apparently sweat and I don't get along. 

During our brief pizza break, two friends commented about how deep Riece's voice became in just a couple weeks.  There was no cracking, wavering, squeaking, or squawking.   It was with a sigh that I agreed, having noticed that morning that he was needing to shave again. And he was suddenly eye-level with me.  He went from little boy to young man overnight, it seems.

Practicing Messy

Messes are uncomfortable for me.  At least my messes are.  I don't mind other people's messes unless it's in my house and those other people happen to be my children.  If I'm in someone else's house, I consider messes normal.  It makes the other people more human.  Relatable.  It's odd and unfair that we expect things of ourselves that we'd never expect of others.

As an A-Type adult, there is a sense of pride in a job well done, a day governed by productivity, setting goals then meeting them, exhausting oneself for achievement while driving yourself and everyone else crazy in the process.  It's fantastic!  Until you realize how truly shallow it is.

Our accomplishments aren't shallow.  But feeling good about our accomplishments by comparing ourselves to others is shallow.    And we all do this constantly.  Especially those of us who are performance-driven.  When others acquire or accomplish more, we feel inadequate and insecure.  If they acquire or accomplish less, we feel self-righteous and superior.  We base our value on comparing ourselves to other flawed and broken people, revealing our own flaws and breaks.

And then we'll turn and lecture our children on trying their best.  "It's not about how your siblings or friends do - it's about how you do.  How you try.  The effort you put forth.  Giving your best over and over again.  I want to see you try your best because I believe in you as a person!  You can do a great job, not just because you are trying to beat someone else but because I believe in you!  God made you amazing - fearfully and wonderfully!  Stop comparing yourself - it's immature!"  If only we lectured ourselves a bit more.

We had a neighbor who was constantly out washing or waxing his boat or cars.  Always.  Without fail.  There was never a  speck of dust on any of his vehicles.  We wondered at the wasted water, soap, and time.  His wife must have felt so neglected at the time and attention spent on his toys.  Or relieved that he wasn't obsessing over her flaws...  Speaking of specks, I noticed a discomfort in my eye...

Maybe I'm getting too tired to fight the endless battles of perfectionism or maybe I'm finally growing up but in the past couple years I've decided to practice messy a bit more.  I'm still Type A so the messes are controlled, but I allow them to happen as life is being lived out.  Popcorn on the rug during family movie night, cooking messes that leave flour and sugar sprinkled the floor and inevitably on the bottom of my feet, or game pieces strewn about during a board game marathon on a rainy afternoon are all signs that a house is lived in.  That life is taking place.  That fun was had.  You better believe that the messes don't stay there for long, but they are permitted for the moment.