Bath towels and some dirty clothes from grandkids were on the ground from the night before, evidence that rather than tidying up the bathroom after scrubbing down kids, she likely laid down and cuddled them during a movie or read them a story instead.
There were toys and sheets out that had been using to decorate their new tree hut in her backyard.
Thank you notes were on dressers and counters from people who she had helped recently.
Cookie crumbs, popsicle drips and little fingerprints were on the dining room chairs.
Her school bag was out, a reminder of a long and devoted career as a teacher, which she chose in large part to allow her own children to have access to her. She has worked and provided an income her whole life, all the while remembering her most important devotions.
Wrappers from little prizes and treats were on the floor, no doubt retrieved from the basket she keeps on the low shelf in the pantry for her small visitors.
Leftovers were in the fridge from a meal she had cooked for the missionaries earlier in the week.
A receipt from a second hand store was in the kitchen, where she had undoubtedly gone to spluge on the kids or perhaps on herself. She has always chosen to be wise and frugal with her money, which has left more for her to bless others with.
Her bed wasn't made. She likely went right outside to play or to the kitchen to make breakfast for kids after waking up.
There were mementos from my own wedding in her guest room - things I had once tried to get rid of in a fit of anger that she thought might bring a smile to my face again one day, so she held on to them.
I hope one day my messes can reveal so many good things about my character and values. I wonder why, when I have such a wonderful example of focusing on the most important things in my own mother, I still struggle sometimes and believe a clean house is more important than the people who live in it.
When we were small, I don't remember her sitting down often. She was always moving and working. She needed to. There were not enough hours in the day for a young mother with a full time job, eventually widowed by her husband battling cancer. Through the years though, she has calmed and slowed a bit. I'm grateful for the compensatory help she offers to my own children's mother, for whom there are not enough hours in the day. I can only hope that one day I will mature into the kind of mother and grandmother she is teaching me to be.
