Some days it can make my insides scream,

the constant doing and undoing. Chores to be done again, again and again.

Much like a factory worker on a line, the same motions, day in and day out.

Not all days are bad but every now and then, rage bubbles up in me.

I dread wiping the counter yet another time.

I’m surrounded by mess and things and crumbs, I long for tidiness and order.

But what is life without the mess?

Crunchy leaves to be raked up and bounced among.

Paint droplets on skin that need to be scrubbed – an adorable newly pink painted room waiting for her to be born.

Dirt dug, wood scattered, a mess that will soon become a home.

Dirty football uniforms and cleats but without, no home game won, no celebration after.

Flour and dough smeared on counters and hands- the smell of fresh baked bread permeating the air.

Weeds to be pulled, dirt to be moved, mud to be made – beautiful flowers sprout up, their carcasses needing to be removed when cold comes.

Messy and painful birth welcomes pristine, new life.

Life is all a mess, without it comes no beauty, no growth, no life.

On the days when I walk into the kitchen to find a mess or see shoes strewn about on the floor – let me be reminded: without them, there is no life, no growth, no beauty.

I’ll take the mess. For someday it will be gone and all I’ll have is beautiful, memories and a clean house.