Magic in the Mess

What if there is magic in the mess?

This is a question I have been pondering deep down in my spirit. What if all the details that cause me distress are just sprinkles on the sweetness of life.

I know it's strange to consider, but hear me out.

Yesterday I was telling my husband about this trend in which certain stores will refuse to open on Black Friday. Paul was not impressed, arguing that most of these stores probably don't turn a profit on Black Friday, but they'll use 'holiday spirit' to generate some positive attention. He says, “Tell me when Target closes on Black Friday, then I will be impressed.” This lead to the topic of grocery stores opening partially on Thanksgiving and how it's not ideal, but I added, “What in the heck would your parents have done if grocery stores closed on Thanksgiving?” Our evening meal would have been severely lacking considering the ingredients his busy parents seemed to overlook until the morning of Thanksgiving!

My in-laws were two busy ministers. They loved and served the poor through their little church, and Thanksgiving was not even a day my father-in-law had off, as he would drive to the home of a certain home bound man, and bring him over for a holiday dinner.

All of this used to be really frustrating for me. All the things they would forget. All the time they would take. All the people they would invite (or not invite).

All the while commotion and laughter would erupt in the kitchen, “No, Honey! I told you to buy juice, not cocktail. Oh dear. I can't make this with cocktail. I have to go get the juice!”

I would catch the clock out of the corner of my eye, taking note we were already AN HOUR behind schedule, and this would throw us off another hour.

Paul's mom would run to the convenient store to pay a 25% mark up for cranberry juice, and Paul's father would peek around the corner and wave us into his bedroom. He would tell us, “Come here! Look where I hid the rum!” He was always hiding alcohol underneath his bed, in the corner of his closet, masked by a paper bag on top of the fridge. It wasn't because he was a priest, as he allowed himself an occasional capful over ice cream or in a glass of milk! No, he would hide it because their son was a recovering addict and was known for “killing off” any alcohol left around the house. Paul's father would snicker as he revealed the hiding place of choice between the holidays. I always felt strange, like, families shouldn't have to hide alcohol.

Don't forget, the lonely invalids of the community (one in particular attended every holiday) were sitting in the living room. I always tried to talk to them, to be courteous and kind, but nothing seemed to surface in my mind to say past “Happy Thanksgiving,” or “Merry Christmas,” depending on the holiday. Small talk....such fun.

I was most annoyed by Paul's brother. I didn't want my kids to know and understand words like “probation” or “jail” or “urine sample.” But, they did. One year Uncle Stephen forgot the charger for his ankle band for probation. Then it started dying, and he was panicking beyond panic. Paul offered to run him home to grab it. My kids asked where Daddy was going. Well, he's going to help Uncle Stephen grab a charger he forgot that he needs so he can charge his probation band so he doesn't go back to jail. Uncle Stephen had to hang out by an outlet for an hour and the kids sat at his feet while he gave them the run down on how probation bands work. He said the word “stupid” in his presentation, and little Jake snapped, “Uncle Stephen, if you talk like that, the police are GOING to put you BACK IN JAIL!” Uncle Stephen thought that was hilarious. I smiled only with the belief that sometimes you have to smile, or you cry.

Then, there were the holiday occasions where Uncle Stephen would detox on the couch, sweating and snoring away. I was offended. Sometimes I would cry in the bathroom, wishing I could be with my family, not in the middle of such of a mess.

If you are new to my blog, I regret to tell you my in-laws were killed in a car accident 3 years ago this month. Paul's brother Stephen died of an asthma attack at the age of 30.

Last night, Paul and I were cracking ourselves up with these stories.

“Remember how your parents were ALWAYS running late?”

“Remember how your dad hid his alcohol from Stephen?”

“Remember how they always got that last minute trip to the store in?”

“Remember how Thanksgiving was always an open invitation to anyone without a friend or family?”

“Remember when Stephen was plugged up to the wall for an hour to charge his probation band...oh yeah, you took him to get that charger. That was a nice thing you did for him. No one wanted to do it. Then, Jake told him if he said “stupid” the police would take him to jail!”

REMEMBER? We just laughed. Then Paul said, “Remember how magical my parents always made the Holidays?”

They were magical. Messy and magical. The magic was in the mess, how they could just laugh at a half-thawed turkey, or a dry turkey, or a Cranberry Wassail made with cocktail because someone dropped the ball with the grocery shopping. They would laugh at the clock as the hours gone by betrayed their pace. They would put anything on hold to play with the grand-kids. They always invited their son to a holiday dinner, even if it meant he would detox on the couch or have to “charge himself” by an outlet. They loved people. Given the choice between having their mess, and not having them at all, I would choose their mess in a heartbeat. I look back on their mess with swelling joy in my heart.

I have wondered now how much more I would have enjoyed the holidays then if I would have just let myself laugh. I wonder if I would have enjoyed myself more if I would have served Stephen in his brokenness instead of allowing myself be offended by him. Even though I can't go back and do those things, I realized I have a choice to make. I can allow my current messes to become magical. I can choose to laugh at my mistakes, and let interruptions segue into new plans. I can tickle a disobedient toddler, toss out a dish I oversalted and order pizza. I can choose to add magic to all the messes I make on a daily basis. I hope my children can look back at those {many} times that I failed at something, burned something, got frustrated with a project -whatever- and hear my laughter echoing in their remembrance, and think to themselves, Man, Mom was always laughing. Mom was joyful despite the circumstances.

That's exactly how I remember Paul's parents. The holidays were magical. Their laughter filled the home. I am grateful for the legacy they left me, unashamedly enjoying moments, every bit of them. That is how you truly bring magic to the mess.

I miss you Wolf and Doni, and all the magical holidays you created for my family. There were not enough of them.