When the mess becomes the message.
This morning I began cleaning up my studio after a full, joy-filled week of art camps.
Among the paint-streaked paper scraps and scattered brushes, I found a drip of purple watercolor on the leg of my work table, a splash of white acrylic on one of the stools, and a tiny heart-shaped ink splatter on the floor.
I smiled. Not because I love messes, but because I recognized them.
Angel Tracks.
That’s what I used to call these kinds of things when my grandkids were little.
When my daughters were young, I called it a mess — the toys, the crafts, the sand, the glitter, the bits of crust from a leftover sandwich. Though I didn’t mind it, I cleaned it up dutifully; without much thought.
But when the grandkids came, I had a shift in my heart. I realized how fast time flies and I didn’t see messes anymore. I saw proof of life. I saw joy, creativity, and play. I saw them. And I started calling it what it really was: Angel Tracks.
It never occurred to me until this morning why the name changed. It changed because I missed it.
Because for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a mom. Not just any mom, but a hands-on, house-full-of-kids, crafting, cuddling, chaos-managing, kitchen-table wisdom-sharing kind of mom. The kind with open arms, fresh-baked Whoopie Pies, and space to make a mess.
As a young girl, I told everyone I’d have a dozen children. I even started reading parenting books in my early teens; not out of duty, but out of joy. I couldn’t wait.
But when I was in my mid-teens, I had a vivid impression — a dream, a vision, a whisper from God — that told me childbirth for me would be a challenge and I wouldn’t be able to have many children. It came with sadness, but also peace and a strength that allowed me to carry it, even though I didn’t fully understand it. I told my mom. I wrote it down. I trusted it.
And it came to pass.
I’ve been blessed with two daughters here on Earth and two children I carry in my heart, waiting on the other side.
But oh, the “Bonus Kids” I’ve been given — through church, through school, through work. I’ve loved them like my own.
And still, over the last ten years or so, that part of my life slowly faded. We moved. Life got complicated. I pulled back.
And I missed them.
I missed the laughter and the light. I missed the energy, the questions, the quiet focus, and the silly chaos.
But this week… this week brought them back to me.
These camps didn’t just give kids the gift of art — they gave me the gift of presence, of purpose, of new little lights to love.
They left me Angel Tracks.
And in doing so, they left me new life.
When Garret and I built this studio two years ago, I filled it with everything I thought I needed — shelving, a custom desk, a big bright work table, spaces for papers and paints and tools.
But something still felt missing.
I know now what it was.
It was them.
It was their laughter.
It was their mess.
It was their magic.
It was Angel Tracks.
What about you?
What signs of love are hiding in your messes today?
Where have you seen evidence of beauty — even in the chaos?
I’d love to hear your story.
