Muddy Heart. Muddy Feet.

You know that Pintrest picture? The one where every item in the person’s mudroom is perfectly labeled, clean, and stored. Their house can’t possibly function like that, right? It’s a mudroom after all. The word mud is in the title. But, in my heart, I envy that organized mudroom. To me, it speaks to how the owner of said mudroom must function all day, every day.  Their children’s shoes are carefully put away as they enter the house, not stepped out of as they race in the house and on to building the next fort. Their bags are hung neatly leaving nothing in the car. “Everything has a place. A place for everything” is their motto and they actually fulfill it.

Well, I don’t. I want to. But obviously not bad enough to enforce the properly located shoe-in-cubby rule or bring all my bags in from the car so I’m not searching for my phone 30 minutes after coming inside. And, then I think. I know! It’s not that they are that organized, it’s that they don’t have as many kids as I do. If I only (now that’s a phrase that will really get you into trouble) had two kids, if my twins were a singleton, if I were older and had more experience, if I were younger and started the right way from the beginning. And, then, it’s on. A full-fledged pity party because I have four children who make my mudroom a mess. Do you hear me? I just typed that sentence. And now I feel shame. Shame for not embracing the blessing of these children that I have, the blessing of the “stuff” that makes my mudroom a mess, and let’s be real, I’m talking about a space in my house that I would have loved to have in my previous home.

But, if I’m honest, and is there really time for anything else, I have realized why this all bothers me so much. I’m not in control and yet still to “blame” for the craziness of caring for my children as if I am being watched and judged on my performance of my clean mudroom. I didn’t ask for four children. I didn’t ask for twins. I didn’t ask for four children 5 years old and under. Because, if I had, it would be my fault that I was in this predicament. I realized my worldview precipitated mostly on “you got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out.” I treated others the same way. I treated myself this way. Ugly, I know. I mean, really ugly. Like, so ugly I can’t believe I’m letting you into my ugly.

And just when I’ve reached the bottom of the ugly barrel, it hits me. I am right. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t plan for this. And, the reality is, I don’t deserve any of it, any of them. They are simply miracles that arrived on God’s timing, not mine. They were His decision. His perfect plan. His perfect child. I should know that better than anyone. I have lost three children through miscarriage, ministered to my friends when they have wept over their lost children, and prayed earnestly for friends to conceive that couldn’t. Christ knew what children I was to parent and exactly how desperate I would be for Him to help me do that joyfully. I need the gospel every day more than anyone I meet.

My heart is ugly and wishes for tidy mudrooms over 8 muddy feet. But, when I see those 8 muddy feet laughing, spraying each other with water guns, and kissing each other goodnight, my heart is softened. I see what God sees. I see what He wants me to see each day. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t deserve this. And, gratitude should be my attitude no matter many goldfish on are my car floor, how little sleep I get, or how many shoes are all over my back hallway. I am brought to tears with how thankful I really am for them. They are the best blessing I could ever receive. I am honored to be their mama.  I am so glad they are here.