About the Mess

Yesterday I had a bit of a low blood sugar at bedtime, which isn't really unusual for me. If you've never had a low blood sugar, basically your body goes on high alert and orders you to eat right this second. Anything in sight is fair game. 

I've had lows so low before that I blacked out a bit and came back to myself with a dirty spoon in my hand and a weird taste in my mouth, but no clue what I'd actually eaten. I once ate an entire container of CoolWhip without remembering it. And I once panicked and tried to jump out a first-floor window instead of eating anything at all. But I digress. 

*ahem* 

Yesterday I had just a little low. 

In my mildly foggy-headed state, I calmly searched the refrigerator for a healthy but carb-filled snack. All of a sudden for no reason at all, a bowl of kale salad fell to the floor and spilled across the room. (That wasn't the carb-filled snack I was looking for.) 

Immediately I thanked Jesus that it didn't land on my foot and started to clean it up. Probably in response to my positive attitude, tiny bluebirds flew into the room and began nibbling on the kale and tweeting a cheerful song. Friendly mice, hearing the music, danced into the room and scrubbed the floor with PineSol, twirling rolls of paper towels behind them. 

Or maybe that's not exactly what happened. 

Maybe in my foggy but frantic low state, my mind was shouting, "EAT, FOOL, EAT!" And my refrigerator, overstuffed because I store leftovers on top of leftovers, saw me weak and seized the opportunity to be nasty. Maybe I clumsily knocked over a heavy bowl of salad, stored precariously atop another bowl of leftover meatballs, onto the floor and right in front of my big toe. 

Maybe I did thank Jesus in my head that it didn't break my toe. (Or maybe I said it out loud because anymore who even knows? I talk to myself and Jesus out loud constantly, all social skills out the window.) And immediately after that, I may have said, "Becki, you fool, why are you so clumsy? How long are you going to be like this?? Here you are 43 years old and still can't open the refrigerator without spilling something everywhere..." And I might have raved on and on at myself. 

Maybe the commotion was so loud and so violent that my teenaged son heard me from the basement, heard me even with his headphones on, even with the music and friend chat of Fortnite or Minecraft or who-knows-what (moms of teens, please say you can relate to never knowing what your kids are actually doing) and ran up the stairs to save me. And maybe his sister emerged from her room, too, just to be sure the house wasn't on fire. 

And maybe they helped me clean up the kale salad with the delicious but messy peanut-sesame dressing, and they made sure their mama was ok, and they asked if I needed any more help before they went back to their video games. 

And maybe I mumbled, "No," and thanked them and just ate a glucose tablet (basically a giant piece of sugar-flavored chalk) instead of eating everything in the refrigerator, and went to bed more or less ok with being a total mess. 

Because even if I am a total mess, at least I have people around willing to help fix me up a little. And that might be even better than birds and mice who clean and sew. (Or maybe both might be nice, but I'll take what I can get.)

Messy but blessed or something, 

Becki