I’m sitting in my son’s bed, typing this on my phone, waiting for it to storm. He has woken up no less than 5 times since I put him to bed. It’s like he knows it’s supposed to storm later in the night and his body is uneasy.

More storms. More rain.

The phlox we planted barely survived the last deluge. It was under water for two days in a low spot on our front yard. We got home for the day and I saw they were completely submerged. We had been afraid of that when we planted though. That area is always under water when we get a lot of rain.

I should also mention that my son loves the rain because jumping in puddles is his absolute favorite.

I love the rain too, for that matter. The sound of it, the energized anticipation of a potential storm. I did love rain better when I had the space and time to cuddle in a blanket with a good book. While my life is full of cuddles, I am rarely alone or with a good book.

Hence the reason I am sitting in my son’s bed. He has been very needy at night for a long time now. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night of sleep without a little hand wrapped around my arm or a little foot lodged in my rib cage.

I’ve looked at the radar a few times and each time I do, the severe threat is less, but the rain is still coming.

The poor phlox.

A few days ago while I was worried about the phlox, my 3 year old had run inside to get his boots and come running back out to splash in puddles. I put my boots on and splashed with him, which always just increases the giggles ten-fold. When he saw the area in front of the house where it was flooded, his eyes grew huge. Puddle heaven. He shrieked and laughed with pure, uninhibited joy. He ran full speed through the water, he jumped, he threw sticks…..

Where I had seen worry, my son had seen adventure.

Ugh. I wonder how many times I do that in life? I wonder how many adventures I miss because I’m looking through my lens of worry?

I used to be ridiculously anxious, so nervous to try new things or step out of my comfort zone. And while I am much more open now, I still prefer a plan and for things to line up neat and pretty.

I prefer no change once something has been set into motion.

I prefer the phlox that I plant to grow.

Easier? Yes. Cleaner? For sure. Aesthetically pleasing. Yes sir.

Shrieks of laughter and little boy giggles.

Nope.

Just some dumb flowers.

It’s not to say it’s wrong to desire order and neat, pretty things. But at the expense of joy? Well that means my priorities are backwards.

I know many times I make a plan and get so stuck in it, I can’t see an alternative. Most of the time, the plan is a good one. Well, good according to my human knowledge and vision.

God’s vision is eternal and almost always, His plan is way messier, way crazier and definitely not as pretty and put together as the one I have.

But, oh is it good. So very good.

Laughter screams and muddy face kind of good.

Jesus wasn’t kidding when he said our faith should be like that of a child. Because my son was safe, and loved, he saw adventure. And even me, a not even close to perfect parent, would willingly sacrifice the phlox for my son to squeeze as many pure moments out of this life as he can.

How much more must our Heavenly Father have prepared and be willing to give to see us have joy? He gave his son.

I pray for eyes like my son. To see more beauty in the mess, the torrent. To find adventure in the unplanned. To endure the flood with hope and anticipation for the awesome puddles.

Beauty from ashes. Puddles from the downpour.