In my never-ending quest to get “caught up,” I stumbled upon this poem that our neighbor, John, shared with me when I first gave birth to Lucas in 2003. Coincidentally, I just made a trip to the old ‘hood to drop off a La Leche League publication lent to me by another neighbor. Sometimes I wonder what and where we might be had we stayed there. We definitely gave up some GREAT neighbors when we moved.
The Blessed Mess by John A. Hammer
A friend once came to visit and to stay a week or two,
“I came to have some fun, hunt and fish, just me and you.”
He hadn’t been here long when he looked around the place,
and although with kinder words, he said, “Man, your house is a disgrace.”
There were cobwebs in the corner and some laundry on the floor,
the kitchen looked clean to me, but he found prints around the door.
And when he moved my couch, on his face was disbelief,
for a treasure-trove of little toys lay dusty underneath.
Close friends we are, and often say what others only think,
so I took in stride his words, like dirty dishes in the sink.
He said, “When I get married, my wife will keep things clean.”
I simply shrugged and said, “My friend, whatever do you mean?”
He pointed out some tasks, no doubt, we’d overlooked,
mostly unimportant, bumped when schedules over-booked.
He said, “Two baby boys and working, I can see how things might slip,
but were she my wife, this wouldn’t do, I’d run a tighter ship.”
He might claim to understand, but in truth he had no clue.
Not that the many tasks were not in need for her to do,
but I was just as guilty of leaving messes lay.
So thoughtfully he listened to what I had to say.
I started with the vacuum, and there it sits you see.
The carpet seemed so unimportant when he fell and scraped his knee.
I could have picked him up and sent him on his way,
but hurts heal much the better when forgotten as we play.
The laundry on the floor, was left when time ran out,
for between nap and bedtime, we take them all about.
The cobwebs in the corner, spoke of fun-filled times.
like reading Bible stories and singing nursery rhymes.
The floor that needed mopping, and the toys beneath the couch,
were left for joyous moments, not so that we could slouch.
On and on I went, explaining undone tasks.
Each was left for time to them, as often as they asked.
For soon they’ll be much older, and their time will be their own,
and we’ll be left hoping for the times when they come home.
Then no doubt my house will be spotless and dust free,
but I’d turn it all to messes for one, “Daddy, play with me.”
Evan as I write this my boy comes lunging to my lap.
His diaper’s probably dirty and it’s past time for his nap.
So I’ll lay aside these words which in truth will never dent,
the telling of priceless joy, when time with children can be spent.