Let me set the scene for you. I have two daughters, 15 and 12 years, and one son, who is 10-years old.
Sometimes I try to imagine how other people see my kids. You may look at one child who always stands out by the way she dresses and see someone who is confident. Or you may see the other one who is more comfortable in t-shirts and blue jeans and think she is plain. Or you may see my son who has worn nothing by athletic shorts and t-shirts since he was three and know he is athletic.
But when I look at my children, I see babies who are curious and tender. No matter how old they get, somewhere in there, I can see them when they were toddlers, just wanting to snuggle with me. I see three kids who are brilliant beyond measure, who have the potential to do something unique, who like to talk and share and play. When I look at my kids, I can see everything that is right in this life.
That is until I get to their bedrooms. Lord Almighty. The three of them have their own spaces at the end of a hallway that I have little reason to go down most of the time. And aside from waking them up every morning, I try not to go down there because I know what I’ll see.
Sometimes I wonder what type of beasts have cluttered their minds to make their rooms so disastrous. How can they live like that? Because at school, their desks and lockers are clean, their binders are organized and their pencils are sharpened.
And although I tell them to clean their rooms almost weekly, I know that they are just shoving one mess into another pile in the corner. I know that only a section of their floor is being vacuumed, that their shoe baskets also have pillows and Legos in them, that the laundry on the floor is a mix of clean and unclean items and that the candy stash I found last week is only one of four other candy stashes in that space.
Because I cannot handle what a cluster mess my life is right now, I decided to wade through their rooms for an annual mom-cleaning yesterday. While my son was at school, I put all the clothes that no longer fit him in a bag for Goodwill, I picked up all the Legos off the floor, I threw away all the candy wrappers and candy bars he’d been hiding, I cleaned his sheets, I organized his soccer and football equipment and I washed his sheets and clothes.
The great thing about being his mom is that underneath those athletic clothes he’s in everyday, he’s also wildly creative. He’s not sure how to show that yet, but I get to see it at home. And what I discovered under all that clutter was my son.
There he was under the mess he’d made. There were drawings of dragons capturing castles, and stories to go along with them. I can tell that one day he will have his father’s perfect handwriting, and that he has captured my imagination. There were books of poems he’d written last year, with drawings and reflections about how they made him happy because they reminded him of Valentine’s Day.
After school was over, I picked my 12-year old daughter up from piano lessons and told her we would clean her room together last night. She said, “But mom! I can’t concentrate when it’s clean. When it’s messy, I do stuff.”
Even though I raised my eyebrow to her, I totally got what she was saying. And I never want to change that about her. I want her to be comfortable enough that she can make all the things she’s envisioned. But I also don’t want bugs.
So, we waded through all the small water bottles, toilet paper rolls and t-shirts she saves for her next big project to find birthday cards she’s saved for years and years because she didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feeling by throwing them away. She’s not the most social person. She’s got her small group of friends and often doesn’t know how to make eye-contact with people, but she’s so reflective and thoughtful.
You see, when you see my kids, you may think you know everything about them by the way they look, the things they talk about or by the things they choose to do or not to do. But just like their rooms, these kids are more than what meets the eye. To you, they may be piles of junk you don’t want to wade through. But in reality, they are soft and tender people who just want to be accepted for who they are.
I used to be able to look at people like I do my kids. I used to see someone, a perfect stranger, and my heart would light up with all the possibility of goodness we could share together. While others may look at the way they dressed, the people they associated with or the car they drove, I would look at them and see something special inside them; something no one else would take the time to see. But because I’ve been hurt so many times over the last couple years, I look at people now and just see their messy room.
But what I need to remember more often is that underneath that messy room, underneath that pile of junk we all carry around, once I wade through all of people’s motives and intentions, when I get past what message they send by how they dress or what they do, there is an innately wonderful person who just wants to be known for who they are.
And if I take the time to get know and delight in others, they, too, will get to know and delight in me.
