How To Walk Into a Messy Monday

Monday morning hits hard. It pulls the eyelids open. Drags the butt out of bed. The hot water of the shower washes away the groggy before I step out into the day. I wake my Mann and find my Bible. I am learning it’s the only way to function through the messy of a Monday.

The kids wake up and find the living room couches. We read together then pray before Mann says goodbye. A new Germany morning routine that works for us right now. Inside the messy of life in a foreign land.

The youngest is tired, and life looks hard today. From this side of the week, she wonders how will we do it. It’s hard to step into Monday after a weekend of fun and together and easier than weekdays.

We pray words of encouragement. Ask the God of the messy for His strength and His peace. Then we step into our boots and out to the sidewalk.

This is a messy Monday.

The snow that fell yesterday has left rooftops white. Beautifully chilly. But our boots turn the snow into slush, and the pretty becomes less as soon as we step out into it.

That’s how it feels on a messy Monday — like all the perfect gets screwed up as soon as we traipse through it. And the youngest, she feels it today.

Because the different looks bigger when you’re tired. And the unknown feels scarier. And the solitude of learning how to communicate with even one other 8-year-old seems ominous and downright impossible.

She holds my hand, and we steady each other for the slippery sidewalks. We don’t say much as we cross the street. But we are all praying. Asking God for the steady hand to walk us through the day. Begging Him for the might He promised would be strongest in our weak. I remind her of that.

We get to the stop, and can’t find the new bus passes. The oldest has left hers at home. I scramble for coins to make up for the error. She tells me she’s sorry. And I smile and nod.

I am glad to know the German words for one ticket for my daughter. One ticket for me. But I can’t remember how much it will cost for the two. The driver waits as I fumble, tossing coins in the tray. She figures it out for me, as if I cannot add it up. But I’m over feeling stupid, and I grab my tickets and head to the back as we ride away from the stop and into our Monday. It’s messy for me, too.

We hold on to the railing as we surf Bayreuth’s morning bus ride. Fight off tired and messy and crowded and loud. And we pray in our hearts as the people pile on.

I catch the youngest’s eye, and she’s struggling still. So I pray some more.

We reach school, and it’s time. So we talk as we walk. Praying and struggling and trying to find the strong that God promised. I know it will show up. I just don’t know exactly when.

So I kiss them goodbye. And I leave them in the hands of All-loving, All-knowing Father.