In the early morning, my toddler son awakens. In the span of time it takes him to rub his sleepy eyes and yawn, his diaper has accomplished the purpose for which it was created.
The smell of it accosts me as I lift him from his crib. NASTY. Yet he is so soft, and sweet, and warm from the sunkissed world of his dreams that I do not flee straight to the changing table, holding him at arms’ length. I simply have to cuddle him, smother those cheeks with kisses, and squeeze him hard before the work begins.
And so it is with our Creator God. Though we reek, and are foul, yet He loves us. In spite of the shit we wallow in, He sees us as a delight, for the simple reason that we are HIS. I don’t care how rank my son is, I will not turn away in disgust; in fact, the grosser he is, the more quickly I respond with water and soap.
Helpless to change his condition, he needs caring hands to do what he cannot. Wipe, dry, anoint, re-dress. Left to his own devices, he would redden, chap, blister, infect.
Stop pretending you’re fine when the fumes from your load threaten to overwhelm you. Stop trying to change it yourself; you’re just making it worse. Bring it to the Father and let Him take care of it.
He might have to strip you bare.
It might take some time.
But He is faithful, and won’t stop until the job is done.
1 John 1:5-9