Bless this Mess…

There are some things in life you can just count on. Death, taxes, and the Millraney family arguing on Sunday morning. I hate Sunday mornings for one reason. This “Super Bowl” of the week for my minister husband puts me at home by myself to wrangle the savages. Let me put it this way; we play our girls in a man to man defense every morning. When Gary is gone, my zone defense is somewhat lacking.


Yesterday was no exception. The girls wouldn’t wake up, wouldn’t get dressed, and there was this MESS everywhere! The fun of a carefree Saturday was showing.


Now, the rule at our house is simple. You don’t walk out the door unless everything is clean. I have always been a “fire path” kind of girl. But…Gary likes the house clean. I like it clean too. I gladly go along with it because most of the time he is the one doing the cleaning. 


Which brings me back to Sunday mornings. It is just a different story. Trying to get everyone up, ready, and clean the house is a recipe for disaster for this party of one. I resolve to improve each week about losing my cool, but failure is my closest friend. I usually end up mad, spanking someone over non- compliance, and everyone ends up crying.


I made a simple request yesterday of our girls. “Just don’t make a bigger mess, clean up what is here and get ready for Monday. I am going on a trip. I am going to be really, really mad if I come home and there is a mess. I am going to work all day. I do not want to work when I get home.


I had heard that GABC was taking a group to Tuscaloosa. It had been a long while since I had gotten my hands dirty, so it was past time. I wanted to go and serve. I like to work. There is something about giving up myself, and my energy that blesses me in a way nothing else does. I saw the chance to go to Tuscaloosa, so I jumped on it.


I was a mixture of excitement and curiosity as we were driving out of the church parking lot. I told myself that I was going to help, but truth is, on some level, I just wanted to see it. The news reports had peaked my interest, so I had to go see it myself.


I enjoyed the drive until about 30 miles outside town. I began to think about what we were about to walk into. I remembered someone saying that the search and rescue teams were still pulling out bodies (children).


I started to feel sick.


We pulled into a neighborhood to receive instructions. I missed the group meeting (shocking). I was just not paying attention (again, shocking). I was overwhelmed by the damage and didn’t hear what was said. The gentleman pointed to a pile of rubble and said, “Put wood here and metal there.” I put on my gloves and began. I started thinking to myself…wonder whose mess this is? They just left their stuff here for us to clean up. I want to go over there. That is a house with a messed up roof. That is a family who needs us. I came to clean up homes, not debris in a field.


That is when I began to overhear fragments of the story…


“He’s in the hospital…They are coming home today…Jewelry, she wants her jewelry.” I listened to pieces of conversations and the story started to reveal itself.


“They were at home when the tornado hit. Three kids were in the home, but the parents could only get to two. The third child was sucked out of the home and thrown across the street. He is in the hospital and they were all being discharged today to come home.” Home?


Reality hit me. I am standing IN their house. This is not a field of debris; this is the lot of what used to be a home. NOTHING is left that even resembled a dwelling. Not a board, not a wall. I moved some dirt and saw the foundation…


I was standing in the laundry room.


I walked over to the man in charge and helplessly said, “What should I do?” He said, “Go through the piles of rubble and find anything a mom would want to keep.” “…Pictures, art work, toys…Go think like a mom.” If there is one thing I can do, he nailed it! For hours I dug through piles and piles of rubble. We would find precious items, and save them. After several hours we had almost enough stuff to fill up two seats in a van.


A van…their entire world would now fit in two seats of a van.


And then it happened. Have you ever had a moment where something takes place and you felt that the moment you were in was one that you were never supposed to be a part of? Well, that happened to me yesterday. The family showed up. I NEVER want to be a part of a moment like that again. We were standing there when they came home for the first time and saw what was left of their house. I walked away, sat on the ground and just sobbed. I turned my back because watching her pain was too much for me to bear.


Relieved that the torture in front of me was over, we loaded back up. I thought that we had done the “hard part” and now we were just dropping off food and water and then going home. It may be the only way to go, but the road we took was even more heart -breaking. We took a route of absolute devastation and destruction. Obliteration is the only word to begin to describe it. I am not talking about things damaged, that were un-repairable. Everything was utterly and completely gone. I looked at Amanda and said,


“So…..THIS is the Finger of God.”


Surreal is the only way to describe my ride home. I think my defense mechanisms kicked in and what I spent the day doing, now seemed almost like a dream. The reality was just too much to take over and over again. I tried to shake the images burned into my mind. But alas, some memories are just burned too deeply.


Exhausted, I pulled in my driveway around 1:00 am. Walking through the door, I found the house a complete disaster. The evidence that Gary needs me as much as I need him on our tag team was everywhere. Mountains of toys, shoes, and wet swim suits were on the floor. I am not sure that lunch was even cleaned up. I climbed over chairs, shoes, and made a path through the remnants of a great afternoon to reach my sleeping girls.


I just stared at them for a minute. My emotions completely flooded my soul as I looked at their room. What if today was my house? What if my girls were on a cot in a shelter instead of zebra sheets in a hot pink room?


I kissed them, said their prayers, and walked quietly to bed. I had a chance, a moment, looking at the mess, where I could have completely ruined it all. But you see, what was so very important at 9:00 am just didn’t have the same allure 18 hours and so much heartache later. I crawled into bed and reached for Gary’s hand.


He gently squeezed it and said, “I am so glad you are home.” I whispered, half to him and half to myself…“I am just glad to have a home.”


As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t allow the moment to pass without acknowledging my Creator…The Blessed Controller of All Things…The One the wind and waves obey.


My prayer was simple, but from an honest heart.






God bless Tuscaloosa…and God bless my beautiful mess.