Mudrooms. Ah, mudrooms.
It was approximately 8:54 on Monday morning. The sky was dumping rain in torrents– so much that it appeared our gutters had waterfalls rushing from them. (What is it with Mondays and rain?!) As usual in our home, we were late getting out the door for school. Annnnnd… it was the Monday following Spring Break– that atrocious day of re-entry into the real world.
Still in my pajamas, I am burrowed head-first into the giant shoe bucket in the small hall closet, slinging shoes up, down, left, and right–eventually just dumping the entire bucket onto the floor. No matching shoes. Moving on, I begin furiously pulling hangers off the rack, trying to find rain jackets, of which apparently we have none. But Aha! There’s one! I grabbed the adorable froggy raincoat for Charlie– you know the one. Most of us have owned it at one time or another…by Kidorable… with matching froggy boots. And as I cram Charlie’s arms into the sleeves, he looks up at me: “Are you kidding me?!” The coat is a size 4. Charlie is 8. Okay, so forget the coats. Meanwhile, the clock has been rapidly ticking, and the carpool warden is most likely at this very moment gleefully shutting the heavy red door to the school…I can almost hear it…Thudddddd.
So with shoes tossed all around me (none matching), coats strewn all over the floor (none fitting), and a soggy and muddy dog running up and down the hall, in my utmost exasperation, I screamed (SCREAMED!) out in declaration against this rainy Monday,
“I WANT A MUDROOM!”
The children just blankly stared at me (certainly thinking, “Mom has finally cracked”), waiting to see what was going to come next, and most likely afraid to move. And what came next was what I least expected. It was the clearest image–as if placed directly onto my retina by God Himself. And it looked something like this:
And as quickly as that image appeared, a similar one took its place.
I stopped and stared at the images in my mind. And it was at this moment that I looked down at the “mess” before me… and declared it good. I looked at my children, who are blessed in immeasurable ways, and my heart whispered, “Thank you, Lord.” The faraway children whose images had taken residence in my mind not only have a mudroom, they live in one.
Will you take a moment–with me–to notice the smiles on these Kenyan children’s faces? The inner joy they exude? The outstretched sweetness of those hands, that I want to just reach out and take hold of? And in the first image, the serene beauty of those young Tajikistani girls? And the way the girl on the right is (to use American terms) ‘rocking’ that (most-likely-discarded-by-an-American) dress? She might be poor in the way we think of poor. But she is rich in spirit.
Those images on my mind? TRUE beauty in the messy.
Somehow, I managed to get the kids to school in one piece each…and with shoes on their feet. And I guess because of the rain and the Monday-After-Spring-Break-Comas, a lot of children were scrambling in late that day, so we blended in with the rest of them. But my Monday had already started to improve–simply because of a couple of images placed directly on my retina by God Himself.
But even with this Monday morning epiphany, I’d be lying to you if I didn’t admit that one day, I would still like to have a mudroom. Apparently, they even have them for dogs these days:
But back to reality… because here is my Mozzie Doyle in her mudroom:
I guess I will just have to wait on the mudroom, and maybe I won’t even want one years from now (whatever). But based on this definition I found, I think it would be a valid request, no? Because it is only in my family’s best interest for me to establish ‘a clear boundary…’ — well, you read the rest.
Be blessed, friends.
(And if I visit you, and you happen to have one of those amazing mudrooms…I promise not to scream out, “I WANT YOUR MUDROOM!”) Even though I probably do.