One of the perks of having a teenage daughter is getting to embarrass and/or annoy her on a regular basis. It doesn’t take much. A goofy face across a crowded room. A few dance steps in the mall. A mention of her toddler years.
On the way home from church yesterday, I was singing along with the stereo. I’m the first to admit I can’t carry a tune, but when Autumn starts rolling her eyes at my attempts, it’s my cue to crank the volume and my enthusiasm. After the eye roll, a shake of the head, and a slight grin, she declared, “You are a mess.”
I am a mess.
In the infamous words of Phineas and Ferb, let me just say, “Yes. Yes, I am.” (I have an 8-year-old, so quoting cartoons is a favorite pastime.)
I am a mess, and I’m willing to admit it. I know people who try to hide their weaknesses. They try to act perfect. They put other people down to shift attention away from themselves and their own flaws. I would rather just let everyone know up front that I am a mess.
My house is usually cluttered. My lesson plans are last-minute a lot of the time. My desk at school is covered in piles (though I know what is in each pile and can find things fairly quickly). Colton’s toys aren’t in neatly organized, labeled bins. My bathroom drawer is a jumble.
And those are just the visible, outward messes.
Inside, I’m insecure about an endless number of issues. I need confidence instead of fear. I worry what others will think. I know the right steps to take to make aspects of my life better – my health, my appearance, my marriage, my teaching, my spiritual life, and the list goes on and on – but I frequently fail to take those steps.
I am a mess.
And I’m proud of that fact because it means I’ve acknowledged I need help. I’m useless on my own. Without God’s guidance and strength, I can’t make it.
Alone, I am a mess, but with Him, all things are possible.
Are you a mess?