Don't look at my mess.

On Wednesday night a couple of weeks ago after work, as I was pulling into my apartment complex, I quickly realized I needed to turn around. I made a quick  u-turn and headed to the neighborhood market to purchase a couple of ingredients not always on hand in my kitchen. Cherries and juice.

Back in October, a coworker asked me if I would make him a cherry pie for his birthday...in February. I promised I would, honestly thinking we would both forget. However, I try to be a woman of my word, and, as it turns out, promises are not easily forgotten, especially when baked goods are involved.

The date on my phone signaled that the following day was the very day that had been pointed to on the office calendar periodically throughout the year followed by the daunting words "cherry pie." I was tired from travels earlier in the week and was momentarily frustrated with myself for forgetting to go shopping earlier. As I turned the car around, I took a deep breath and realized baking was just what I needed. Baking seems to be a cure all in the depths of my emotional being.

You may find pride in finishing a building project, completing a spreadsheet or getting a promotion. I find it in the golden edges of a pie crust or spending hours detailing a cookie. That's where we are different. Hopefully someday someone will attribute value to flour to sugar ratio and the spacing of royal icing on a sugar cookie. Until then, perhaps I should learn more about spreadsheets.

After I put my oven mitts away, I looked around the kitchen. There was flour on the floor, dough across the counter, and splotches of red cherry pie filling on the stove. Uncharacteristically, I didn't care. I opened the oven and saw the pie filling begin to simmer. I shut the oven and left the kitchen.

As much as I don't want to admit it, I am a perfectionist in many areas of my life, or at least I try to be. I probably won't invite you into my house unless my bed is made (if you have seen it otherwise, we are probably closer than you think), I apologize for things left on my living room floor, and I will make a mad dash to reach my house before you do so you don't see the pile of clean laundry I haven't yet folded. Mom, I'm sorry I developed these habits after I moved out of your house.

Isn't it the same for so many of us emotionally too often? It seems the proper way to start most any conversation is with the phrase "How are you?" While it may be true that we were late for work that morning, have an empty refrigerator, said words we didn't mean to our best friend on the phone the night before, and completely botched our budget for the month, that is not typically the way we respond to such a question. In most cases, we respond with the "proper response" of good (or your favorite generic adjective) and proceed in the conversation by returning the question to the sender.

Heaven forbid we let anyone in our life know anything is less than perfect. If we did, we might have to admit we are human... and well, who knows what would happen after that. Fear and doubt tell us people only love the things about us that are suitable for a Hallmark Greeting card. Doubt tells us that if people saw the real thing, they would run the other direction, and even if they stayed, it would be with hesitation. Fear tells us to keep it all in. Doubt lies and says everyone else has it together, so we should pretend we do too. Turns out doubt is telling us all the same lies, leaving us with little taste of what is really going on around us.

Sometimes I wish we could just pick up a baseball bat and hit those fears and insecurities over the head. Instead, we convince ourselves that someone will judge us for holding the bat wrong and never pick it up in the first place.

That's what I love about being in the kitchen. I make a mess, but I don't care. In the kitchen, I recognize that the mess is a part of the process. Without a little flour on the counter, the dough for my pie crust would never get rolled out. Without a sink of dishes, the ingredients for the crust would never get mixed together. And if I never opened a jar of cherry juice or a bag of cherries, I would have nothing to give but a empty pastry shell (still flaky and delicious, mind you...but the filling does add extra pizazz). In the kitchen, I can accept that the imperfections along the way are all a part of what create the beauty in the finished product.

I'm not perfect, and I'll be the first to tell you that. I can make you a list if you would like. We don't expect others to be perfect or have it together all the time, so why do we put so much pressure on ourselves to create the appearance of a standard we do not seek out or expect in others?

In one of my favorite books, the author tells a story (much more eloquently than this) about her basement being her hiding place for her messes when guests came over. She was always careful to make sure that door was shut for the duration of her friends' visits. However, one afternoon, the door was ajar and a friend ended up seeing the basement. gasp. Much to the author's surprise, her friend walked up the basement stairs (much to the author's horror to realize where her friend had been) laughing and smiling with relief. The friend was relieved that she was not the only one with a basement of her own. Let's put it out there. We all have our basements, physically and emotionally. By pretending we don't, we aren't doing ourselves any favors. Dehumanizing ourselves takes away a level of relatability that creates a genuine quality in relationships.

The small group I am in has been doing a study on doubts women struggle with on a daily basis. A couple of weeks ago, we talked about the fear of failure and the whispers of doubt that too often echo "I'm not good enough." Reading the chapters, I winced realizing how much the subject resonated with me. Does anyone else hear those voices? I'm not successful enough. I'm not outgoing enough. I'm not confident enough. I'm not....The list could go on. Though sometimes quiet, the voice of doubt is persistent.

It's so easy to believe these lies that doubt weaves into our thought patterns. These thoughts become what we believe, which in turn has a huge effect on our actions. The truth is, we don't have to be perfect, and we don't have to pretend to be either. I read somewhere this week that the cracks in our lives create a space for the light of Christ to shine through. By sharing in life together authentically, we can see the ways God is working to refine one another, and let Him use us to lighten the load in each other's lives, whether that be through encouragement, prayer, or even a good shared laugh.

Let's make a deal. I'll try not to hide my messes if you try not to hide yours. Don't worry, I'm not going to call you ten times a day and word vomit my problems. I will however, try my hardest to be real, to live my life recognizing that everything doesn't always go according to plan and that's okay. We are in this together and maybe we have been placed on the same path to not only share in each other's joys, but learn from each other's mistakes, and pick one another up when we fall.

Without the mess, we wouldn't be refined. Without the mess, we wouldn't need a Savior to mold and shape us each day. Without the mess, we wouldn't have the same story and perhaps wouldn't have the same opportunity to relate and minister to the people God places in our paths. 

Let's promise to see the person and not the mess. Let's look for the beauty and listen to the story. Let's live our lives together, take chances, make a few messes, and let Him refine us along the way. Let's accept that a mess is sometimes a part of the process. Let's seek to love and see the way He does.

He looks at me and doesn't see a mess. He looks past the mess and sees my heart. There is no pile of laundry, stack of dishes, emotional blunder, or physical mishap that can separate us from the love that He wants to lavish on us through the grace of His Son. I'm thankful that He saved me, mess and all.