I Tracked Mud in On Purpose Because . . .[mike]

I tracked mud in on purpose because.

I tracked mud in on purpose because I.

I tracked mud in on purpose because I missed you.

You’re all grown up now. You live in your own house and you visit us on our birthdays and most holidays.

I just heard this song playing in the background and it made me think of you so I went out to the backyard, right in the middle of the biggest rain storm you’d ever seen, and I stomped in place until the spot beneath my feet became brown and squishy. Then I walked straight into the house, across the white carpet, through the kitchen, down the hall and into the living room, leaving gi-normous footprints behind me. I turned around and stared at my work of art.

Pretty dirty.

I didn’t get upset like I used to when you were little. I didn’t throw my hands in the air and shake my head either. I didn’t even mutter a curse word beneath my breath. You know what I did?

I smiled.

Then I grinned (which is bigger than a smile).

Then I started to laugh. I laughed louder and louder and louder until Mom heard me from upstairs and came rushing down to see what was so funny.

“What on earth are you doing?” she said with this concerned look.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I bellowed, “I’m tracking mud through the house!”

“Why yes, I can see that,” she replied. “Why, may I ask, are you doing this?”

At this point, Mom was looking me up and down with a look only reserved for a person who’d completely lost their mind. She kept glancing to the trail across the carpet behind me, then back to me, then back to the trail.

I stopped laughing and pulled myself together. Then, I collapsed in the chair by the front window.

“I miss them,” I said. I smiled at her. She looked at me for a second and then she smiled to. I could tell by her expression that she felt the same way.

“Me too,” she groaned.

“They weren’t kidding when they said ‘it would go by too fast,’ were they?”

“Nope.”

“We have amazing kids don’t we?” I said.

Mom smiled and nodded. “We sure do,” she replied. “And we had a ton of fun watching them grow. I wouldn’t trade a moment, good or bad.”

I agreed completely. “Me either,” I said. “I smile when I think of all those years.”

I looked up at her and leaned in and softly kissed her cheek. “You have to admit it though babe,” I said with a goofy sounding voice. “My artwork is a masterpiece right?”
I waved my arm toward the footprints like I was introducing a new car on the Price Is Right.

Mom rolled her eyes. “It sure is,” she said sarcastically. “You’re a regular Da Vinci.”
She patted me gently on the shoulder and stood up. As she rounded the corner and I heard familiar words.

“Make sure you clean up your artwork at some point, please.” She chuckled and continued on down the hallway. I stared again at the footprints across the carpet. I thought of you and all your brothers and sisters. I thought of your innocent faces when we would scold you for things like getting mud on the carpet, or fingerprints on the walls, or food on the sofas, and I smiled again. Although you did grow up learning to respect your house, and each other, and your mother and I, you were still creative and daring and adventurous. You were pure kid, through and through. When Mom and I would panic and fear that we were screwing up, or being too harsh, or not harsh enough, God knew what He was doing. He knew what He was going through us and in you.

That truth fills me with unspeakable joy and passion. I’m so proud of the people you’ve become. I’m so proud of the paths you’ve chosen. They’re filled with creativity and dreams. I’d like to think that you tracking mud in or dragging Mom’s craft drawer out and making a mess on the kitchen table all those times had something to do with that. Maybe it did.

I guess what I really want to say is ‘thanks.’ Thanks for teaching me that life is meant to be enjoyed, not monitored. Life is meant to be lived carefree not confined by boundaries. Boundaries are very important, yes. But if we live and die by them we’ll miss so much that life offers. We’d miss the freedom of it.

Thank you for teaching us this.

So yes! I did it. I tracked mud in on purpose. I tracked mud in on purpose because……because I missed you. I miss your muddy footprints. The carpet looks too clean. I miss your sticky fingerprints. The walls are too shiny. I never thought I’d feel that way, but I do. So now you know….if you ever come over and see muddy footprints across the carpet, you’ll know that you’re missed….and adored….and loved….always.