Message in the Mess

I am a fan of fans. (My fantasy football username is novelfan.) However, the fans I love the most right now are household fans that make hot, humid, Michigan summers bearable.  The steady hum of a fan settles me. The soft breeze cools and refreshes me without shocking my system. I find that drastic temperature changes cause nagging headaches. I find fans extremely beneficial. Last week, one of the fans in our house became my foe. Every time I looked at it, I shivered with disgust.  It was one filthy fan. When I walked by my foe I could feel it blasting me with dirt bullets loaded with germs.  I could not help but think the fan was doing more harm than good. My husband and eldest son told me it was useless. It was decision time, I could: Let it keep throwing filth -- this would put my family's health at risk. As a mother doing nothing was NOT an option I was willing to consider. Throw it out -- I have a hope-filled heart that sees the potential in everything. I was n...

As a young girl I used to cringe when my mother told me to clean my room. I was not a neat child. I earned the moniker of Little Miss Mess Maker. God made me a tenacious little rebel, and life offered so many opportunities for fun beyond taking care of clothes, toys, books, and the remnants of any snacks I snuck into my room. My solution for many years was to run into my room, put away a few items that my mom would immediately notice in their rightful place, and then unceremoniously crammed everything else under my bed  using my hands and feet.  Sometimes I needed to brace my little body against the wall and use all my strength to push various objects out of sight.  This was not an impulse, it was a well-thought plan. I proceeded to read a few chapters or color some pictures until a sufficient amount of time passed to add credence to my cleaning ploy. I was not destructive by nature. If I'm honest, I probably enjoyed maneuvering through the obstacle course mess I crea...