I
didn’t want to make him more uncomfortable by pressing
him for the truth, so I did nothing and we both suffered.
I
hoped he had what the preacher’s family used to call
“an escape of gases.” However, it became apparent
a few miles down the road that my little trouper had
experienced more than just an escape
of gases. Some of those gases weren’t gases, but solid
matter. And it was pungent.
I
could hardly breathe. Despite the winter evening,
I cracked the window and reflected on my now‑sleeping
son’s predicament. I wished he hadn’t been too embarrassed
to admit to me his accident. I wished he didn’t have
to live with the discomfort of his innocent leakage.
I wondered why he covered up the obvious.
When
we arrived home late that evening, my suspicions were
confirmed. I patiently helped him clean the rather
small mess. I was careful to avoid an insensitive
remark; I could tell he was relieved. I thought, “If
only he’d had the confidence to tell me sooner. I
could have put his mind (and my nose) at ease a lot
earlier.”
Putting
down my own sleepy head a few minutes later, I mused:
what is it about human nature that causes us to hide
the fact that we’ve made a mess, or in cases like
this, a mess on ourselves? In particular, why do we
conceal it from the ones who are the most likely to
be understanding and help us clean up our mess? Chances
are they already know anyway.
I
thought about my own relationship with God. How many
times had I sat in my own crap–uncomfortable, ashamed,
embarrassed, hiding out? I hated how it felt, but
feared how God would respond if I came clean about
the dirty truth.
What
would God do? Would he scold me? Embarrass me? Shame
me? Lecture me? Spank me?
Of
course not. God would do for me exactly what I did
for my son. He’d gently clean me up, calm my fears,
reassure my heart, and prepare me for another day.
I’m convinced of it.
After
all, isn’t that exactly what the psalmist says? “As
a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord
has compassion on those who fear him,” (Psalm 103:13).
I
determined right then that I would come clean about
my messes sooner rather than later–not after hours,
or days, or weeks of misery. Certainly God would be
as patient with me as I was with my son.
Besides,
I reminded myself, “Living in crap makes us feel like
crap.”
