The glass tipped on its side, spilling sticky orange liquid all over my kitchen table. Reese’s cries erupted from the other room as I reached for a towel. Forgetting the mess, I headed for her room where I discovered a wet bed and an even wetter kid. I stripped her sheets and threw them in the wash, cleaned her up and changed her clothes.
I finally returned to the kitchen to pour her some cheerios and paused in front of the table. The small puddle of spilled juice now spanned the width of its surface, soaking into the fabric placemats, dripping over the edges and pooling on the floor. A mess that originally required a few paper towels had now become a much bigger project.
I reached for the cleaning supplies, wishing I had tackled the spill sooner. As I wiped the table clean, I thought about the other “spills” in life.
Bad habits.
Negative thoughts.
Repressed anger.
Each begins as a tiny puddle, a slow drip. Left unaddressed, the puddles spread, spanning the width of our being. Creeping closer to the edge, they threaten to mar the other still-clean surfaces of our lives.
Our messes in life are best cleaned as we go.
Because the longer they’re left, the wider they grow.
Nice, sounds like a morning I used to have when my children were young. I miss those days. Cherish the messes of life, its how we learn.
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