You know the book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, where one single event sets off a whole chain of events in the life of a little mouse and the boy who gave him the cookie? I feel that book on a soul level.

The other evening, I slipped out the front door to water my plants. I have just a few flowerpots on the front stoop and two hanging baskets of begonias. We’ve had a lot of rainy days lately, so I haven’t needed to water much, but this week held a stretch of dry days. So, I got my watering can and headed out into the dusky light.

While watering, I noticed the cobwebs stuck in the eave over my front door. I saw that the recent migration of cottonwood fluff had taken over the corners behind the antique milk can from my grandpa-in-law’s farm, the Red Wing Crock, and both lanterns that flank the front door.

Looking down at the front step décor brought my gaze to the sidewalk that leads us home, which is cracked and in need of a power wash.

Thinking about power washing the sidewalk reminded me of the weird splotches that appeared on the garage door, and I wondered if they could be power washed off or would have to be painted over.

Painting the garage door made me think of how badly our house needs a paint refresh, but really our siding just needs replaced. Decades of harsh Minnesota winters, blazing summers, spring hailstorms, and just general living have worn down those original boards and it’s beyond time for repair.

I sigh, knowing that’s just the outside of our home… just a snapshot of the billion unfinished tasks that catch me in the wee hours when I’m awake thinking of the endless to-do’s and wishing I was asleep. I’m the mouse but with a gross cookie, like one made with salt in place of sugar, and instead of crumbs I’m leaving behind a trail of tasks that never ends.

I’m not only thinking about the tasks and the fixes and the repairs, I’m thinking about what it looks like to gaze at them from the street or front lawn. Woodpecker holes and a driveway that needs resurfacing, and I wonder if people think we don’t care?

I wonder if it looks like we don’t miss the framed artwork that was never hung back up after we took them down for the holidays. I wonder if it looks intentional, as if we enjoy the peeling paint on the platform underneath the (waiting to be replaced) air conditioner. I wonder if guests perceive our ‘lived-in’ style (read: toys, sometimes dishes, always laundry lurking) as preferred.

I know that’s how things look from the outside. I know that the surface layer doesn’t tell the whole story; it’s always what’s on the inside that counts. But I still want the cobwebs swept and holes patched and laundry done, because I don’t want my mess to be the whole story.

Then a few of my favorite stories from Scripture float across my mind and I think of two women with messy lives who lived long, long ago, and the encounters they had with Jesus that changed everything.

Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak. She said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.” Jesus turned and saw her. “Take heart, daughter,” he said, “your faith has healed you.” And the woman was healed at that moment.
Matthew 9:20-22 NIV

Jesus, tired from the long walk, sat wearily beside the well about noontime. Soon a Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Please give me a drink.” He was alone at the time because his disciples had gone into the village to buy some food. The woman was surprised, for Jews refuse to have anything to do with Samaritans. She said to Jesus, “You are a Jew, and I am a Samaritan woman. Why are you asking me for a drink?” Jesus replied, “If you only knew the gift God has for you and who you are speaking to, you would ask me, and I would give you living water.”
John 4:5-30 NLT

Those women were not perceived well by anyone looking in off the street. Pushed aside by friends and family, right into the margins with their mess. Their circumstances are open to a side-eye glance from anyone walking by. Their lives were, quite probably, not what they’d intended to cultivate.

And yet, Jesus made it a point to meet them. To begin conversation and offer healing of all kinds. He knew what they cultivated in their hearts, even if it didn’t match their outward appearance and situations. He knew their mess didn’t tell their whole story.

I love those stories because they show exactly who Jesus is. He’s the one to stretch out a hand. The one to meet us exactly where and as we are. The one who goes first with empathy and care and kindness. The one who makes us feel so confidently loved that we can shed our fears and boldly proclaim that love.

I’m not even sure how to wrap this up; I certainly don’t have a neat bow or anything of the like. But I do know that after watering my flowers, I also swept the cobwebs out of the corners. I walked down the drive, collected the mail, and turned around to see the glowy lights of the garage highlighting my little house. I knew that waiting inside was my family, the dishes left sink-side from a favorite dinner, and books waiting to be read before bedtime. Music was playing and laughter was pouring out of the playroom. A culture we’ve cultivated and given thanks for, hard at work. Things we’ve done on purpose, despite the mess that it may appear to be from the sidewalk.

And I smiled, knowing God sees the real us no matter the mess of our home, hair, health, or circumstances.

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