grace

"She peed her pants!!" One of my children screamed loudly about another child who was well beyond the stage of having accidents.  Though we dealt with many a nighttime wettings during the trauma of her huge transition into our home, a middle of the day accident was a brand-new occurrence for this child.

All the other younger children heard the grand announcement and went running to see the evidence of the accident, while I reprimanded the older child for making public what should have remained private.  

Hurrying then to the bathroom, I scurried the children out who were standing there staring.  I closed the door and turned to see her.  Her clothes and shoes were drenched and she stood in a pool of urine. Embarrassment covered her downcast face and shame showed in her slumped shoulders.  "It's OK, sometimes that happens.  Let me help you get cleaned up, OK?"

Slowly and silently she helped me pull off wet clothes, clean up sticky skin and mop the floor.  As she stood naked, vulnerable and embarrassed, my heart just ached for her. In that moment, I didn't care about the smell of urine or about the fact that my fingers had become wet as well. I wrapped her in a towel, held her tight and tried to comfort her.  

It was a mistake.  She felt horrible.  It was so easy to see the obvious in a child I loved and cared about.  I wanted to replace the ridicule with love and the shame with comfort.  In a moment of pride, I thought, "this must be how God sees us in the midst of our mistakes."  And I believe that He does - He desires to remove our shame and comfort us with His incredible love.  He gave His life to do just that.

But then reality hit, who was I kidding?  More often than I succeed in showing compassionate love, I fail.  Yes, for a child I've been given to love and care for I can do the "right thing", but how many times do I neglect to do the same for others?  How often does judgement seep into my thoughts rather than grace; frustration rather than encouragement?  How many times am I tempted to stare, rather than stoop and help?

I desperately want to remember that moment and the way my heart felt for "my child"; the way I want my heart to feel for each of God's beloved children in the midst of mistakes and shame.  May I not hesitate to show compassion and grace; may I not be bothered by stench and dirt; may my heart break for that which breaks the heart of God, knowing full well how many, many times I have broken His.  

May I not forget, I am often that child in much need of love, comfort and grace.