In 1984, I was seven. I had a gap between my two front teeth that was large enough to stick a pencil through and made it equally impossible for me to whistle. My mom always said that gap gave me character. I hated it. I wanted it fixed.
When I turned 13, my hair turned curly. My mom used to run her fingers through my hair, wanting to steal a little of my Shirley Temple look for herself. She said I was lucky. People would kill to have hair like mine. I hated it. I couldn't find enough hair products in the kingdom to make my hair less huge. I wanted it fixed.
Now I'm 31, quickly closing in on 32. My gap is fixed and my hair is less curly than ever (thanks in part to a flat iron) and I've realized something about myself. A pattern. I like things being fixed. I'm not so fond of things being messy and unresolved. I'm great at projects. Projects have a beginning, a middle and an end. I like looking at rooms in need of help. I can't take my eyes off a couch or a wall until I find the perfect thing to fix the glitch.
This year has been challenging for me. For a person who likes life to look a certain way, this year has been anything but "pattern friendly." I like things being fair. I like "rule followers" to be rewarded. And since you live in the same world I do, you can imagine that I have lived many of my days a bit frustrated and disappointed that the "good guy" doesn't always finish first.
April and May were hard months for me. Each day had an uncharted path. There was no equation for how the day was going to go. No medical website to give me comfort and peace. Medical specialists disagreeing on the images they saw. One day, up. The next day, down. I was so torn between hearing the mixture of good and bad that my mind needed a retreat.
Couldn't it all just be fixed? If only things in the "grown up" world had such simple solutions like braces and hair products. Trust me. I've tried my own type of fix-it remedies. I have tackled more house projects in the past month than I ever thought possible. Truth be told, there's nothing like a good house project, but more than that ... I found myself scurrying to find numbness.
On May 7, we were told our baby's heart had stopped beating. Our second miscarriage in three months. On May 8, I went to the hospital for surgery. On May 9, my jaw locked. On June 3, I spent my morning in an MRI machine. The results of the MRI - the right and left TMJ meniscus have been dislocated leaving me with very limited range of motion. The treatment. A bit unknown. You can imagine my response to hearing my chiropractor telling me he can't FIX this. What? Isn't that what is supposed to happen? You have an issue and it gets fixed? You get answers. You get resolution. You move on. That's life, right?
Not mine. Not lately. My life, as of late, has been a bit messy.
But tonight, I saw these pictures of Eli. I looked at his face and his eyes. Joy in the midst of the mess. As I shuffled through these images (there are about 20 in all), I began to pray that I might begin to delight in all of this. That my eyes would have the same reflection as I process loss and the unknown. Because Eli does not doubt for one minute that his mommy is going to clean up the mess and I, too, can have the same confidence that my Father has great plans to turn what I see as a mess into something much greater.
Time for hand prints ... made MUCH more fun when you raise your hand three feet high and SMACK the paper! Even more fun when you find paint ALL over the place days later ... 
And ... as with most things in life ... all good things must come to and end. In our case, the end came abruptly when I realized the disaster that was in front of my eyes and watched my youngest beginning to paint the dining room chairs. Perhaps the next time the temps hit 105 ... we'll try something calming and clean ... maybe YOGA??