He was seven, maybe eight, and I was forty plus that number. I had one more day to find it and had already looked in almost every nook and cranny. The only place left untouched was before me, my little boy’s room, and it was a mess. I had left this room for last thinking the minute he got off the bus, he was going to clean it in search of his missing library book. However, that would involve a battle, so I would tidy it up a little and leave the bigger messes for him. The challenge between his room and my search was on. The pile of dirty clothes mixed with the clean ones he supposed to have put away was the first task. As I went to hang some of clean shirts, I encountered a new mess, his closet. As I stood there I was bombarded with mother’s guilt. How could I have allowed his room to get this messy? Yes, I was a terrible mother and had failed at clean home perfection.
After the clothes were neatly put away and hung in his closet, the need for order overcame me, so I dug into the closet maze. Little green army men, dinosaurs, Hot Wheel cars, Legos, Bionicles and miscellaneous other items merged together in various boxes. The sorting of like toys began, and soon I had a neat box for each toy variety. I gently touched the toys that represented each boy phase we had encountered to this point, and marveled at what a young boy could create with duct tape and wooden blocks. More digging revealed markers, broken crayons and even lids for the boxes! Memories of his first car noises and dinosaur roars merged with more mother guilt and a bit of disappointment with the little mess maker. Finally, I stood and admired the now orderly closet, but the library book had not been found.
There was a slight struggle within me to leave all the rest for him, along with a lecture on clean room responsibility, or just getting it done right and now. I compromised and left the book shelf corner for him, and then I looked under the bed. There would be no monsters here, because they simply would not fit. As I scooped up piles and brought them into the light, I discovered a few more toys that fit into the my now tidy boxed categories, a small blanket, missing pajamas, a few shoes, and yes, even a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich. With my next scoop I hit the jackpot. The missing library book and a bag of Halloween candy! It was March and inside were my favorite miniature treats, so I claimed the candy. The last reach under the bed brought a few crumpled papers. As I opened one, I realized we or maybe the Sunday School teacher had done something right, as the words “I trust God” were revealed in his not so perfect little boy penmanship. Suddenly the shame, guilt and anger dissolved, and I thanked God for blessing me with the wonder of a little boy and a family I had waited for so long. Maybe I wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t perfect and our life wasn’t perfect, but one message was perfect for moms and little boys. Trust God.
That seven-year old boy turned twenty-one this week. He grew up much faster than I could have imagined. There were challenging moments in the little and growing boy years, which required many prayers. I admit there were times during the junior high years, that I didn’t trust God as much as I should have, and there were some battles. Today he stands before me a tall young man. He is perfectly imperfect to me, and he is kind, thoughtful, happy and caring with a warm smile, endearing sense of humor and positive attitude. His corner of the house is clean and quiet now, but on the top shelf of the closet are neat boxes of little boy toys and on the wall of his room a framed reminder to Trust God even in the midst of the mess.