Muddling Along

Have you ever had one of those days where you wish you'd stayed in bed? I remember a day like that.

The dishwasher had malfunctioned,
flooding our
house all night as we slept. We
didn’t know until one of our
sleepy-eyed children came into
our bedroom early in the morning
and said, “Mom and Dad! It’s
raining in the basement!”

The room that was hardest
hit was the storage room where
we’d recently carefully stacked
and dated our pride and joy, a
two-year supply of food. In a
mad dash to save anything we
could, every member of our
family hauled each bucket and
box out into the back yard to
dry out. It took hours.

Just when we finished, we
heard a clap of thunder, looked
up, and felt several drops splash
in our eyes. Then the heavens
were opened and the few drops
immediately became a downpour.
We regrouped and quickly
hauled our soggy mess into the
garage.

When we finally got every
box and bucket into the garage,
my son came running to me
in tears, informing me his pet
rabbit was dead. After finally
getting the children off to
school, my daughter called from
campus saying she couldn’t
remember where she’d parked
the car at BYU. Then my other
first-grader had an accident that
required a change of clothing.
You get the picture.

“I can’t handle any more,” I
said to my husband.

“You don’t have to handle it,”
my husband replied. “There’s
no rule book somewhere that
says you have to go through life
handling everything. Just muddle,
Jan. I’ve been muddling for
years and no one can tell the
difference.”

FEATURED SPONSOR

Muddle, I thought. I think I
can muddle.

Now every time I’m feeling
overwhelmed, I remember
my husband’s timely advice.
Frankly, I’ve been muddling
ever since and so far no one can
tell the difference, just like he
promised.

I remember a day when I
walked into the kitchen to find
my young son surrounded by
the large white buckets where
I stored our flour, sugar, and
pasta. He was busy scooping—
sugar into the flour—rice into
the sugar—pasta into the rice.
The whole kitchen looked like a
white billowing cloud except for
my son’s innocent grin and two
large blue eyes staring up at me.
“Look, Mom. I’m the bread
maker!” my young son said as he
looked up at me.

Suddenly it dawned on me
that whenever I made bread I
pulled out all the white buckets
and started scooping. He was
trying to be like me.

My feelings of frustration
melted into love. I was so proud
of him for trying. As we got busy
cleaning the kitchen, I realized
God loves us like that. No matter
how big the mess or mistake
we’ve made, God provides us
with a Savior to help us clean
it up. That is the essence of
muddling.

Muddling is not mediocrity.
Muddling allows us to stop
keeping up appearances or worrying
that we’ll never measure
up. Muddling is accepting our
humanness and inadequacies.
Muddling is realizing there are
some messes only Christ can
clean up. And muddling is seeing
our worth through God’s
eyes and never giving up hope
that things will work out.

Find this and more insightful
stories in 15 Secrets to a Happy
Home from Spring Creek Book
Company.