I don’t know about you, but I’m a hot mess. A sticky, gooey, drippy, don’t know which way is up, thick caramel, hot mess. Some days I’m messier than others and I tend resemble a baby eating peas and carrots for the first time. Other days I’m neat and tidy, like I just walked out of the hair salon with a new hair style covered in pounds of hair spray. Sometimes my mess lasts hella long, like for years, and I’m so not kidding, like not in the least, like no joke. And sometimes I make a mess and clean that bad boy up real quick.
I’m not sure, but I don’t think God meant to create such a messy mixture of mish mosh that is me. I’m thinking that when He was making me, He was in a playful kind of mood and decided to try a potluck kind of dish. I’m thinking He put on His apron, grabbed a giant mixing bowl, and haphazardly added a little bit of this, and a little bit of that, and a whole lot of whatever, then tossed those bad girls together. Being the visionary He is, He probably added some sparkle and glitter to the mix but then decided to get imaginative and threw in a bit of lemon and spice. I’m thinking He shook everything up, making sure the ingredients meshed well together, then let it all sit for a while. I’m guessing He then left me out on His counter and went to take care of some Godly business (I mean He IS very busy and in high demand). But I’m thinking He left me marinating a wee bit too long.
In my opinion, it seems as if He added an over abundance of emotions. I mean how long does it really take to get over some serious wrongs that your husband (and his family) who you’d been with for a friggin lifetime, did to you? How long does it really take to remove them from your psyche so whenever you’re asked, “How are you and your boys doing?” you can finally answer, “We’re good.” Two friggin years? Really?
And I think He added way too much doubt in my mix too. I mean, is it really necessary for me to question everything I do so much so that I don’t even want to do anything anymore. I mean, staying in my comfort zone is so not an option when I’ve got things to do, places to go, people to meet and life to live. And what about all of the daggone hormones He threw into the bowl? I’m not even going there with this one. But really God? Really? Up. Down. Happy. Sad. Anxious. Fearless. Depressed. Excited. Unsure. Sure. Up. Tired. Down. Energized. I’m like a feezing yo yo.
At least He had some mercy on me and added some empathy and caring and ambition and dreams and compassion and goals and do-gooder and believer and encourager and all around terrific person (if I can toot my own horn). At least He mixed in a dash of thoughtfulness and hard workerness and kindness and easy goingness and peacefulness. At least these ingredients evened out the other crap He tossed into the bowl.
I guess if He didn’t let me sit on His counter and marinate for so long, I wouldn’t be the loving bundle of magnificence that is me. The sticky, gooey, drippy, don’t know which way is up, thick caramel, hot mess. My mess. That He made. That He loves. That I love. I guess He did mean to make this messy mixture that is me. And He made you too.
