Jesus Loves Me

There are times when my heart overflows with love for my children. Well, scratch that...my heart is always overflowing with love, there are just certain times when it's gushing like Old Faithful.

I tucked Luke into bed tonight and sang a few songs with him. Watching his little face light up as he recognized each new tune...it just took my breath away. And he's really learning the lyrics now, as well. Where I once used to hear, "Yesssss, Jee-suh wuh muh..." I now hear nearly every word of the song with clarity.

And what a precious song it is.

It's funny how differently you look at children's songs when you become an adult. I don't think I really ever put much thought into what I was singing all those years ago. Sunday School, Church Camp, you name it...I simply belted out the tune without the slightest bit of appreciation for what I was actually saying.

Jesus loves me, this I know.

What an amazing concept. Mind-blowing, when you think about it. The Son of God, The Creator of All Things, The Beginning and The End.

He loves me.

ME!!!

And not with a love that I can understand. No, my love is a watered down imitation. A copy of a copy of a copy, a degraded reproduction.

But Jesus loves me with a perfect love. Selfless, flawless, and timeless.

Little ones, to Him belong.

And they do.

I've always believed that Jesus holds a very special affection for children.

"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them.

"Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me but the one who sent me."

We are all born sinners, and yet children retain such an innocence of spirit. They haven't yet been poisoned by this terrible world...haven't been stained by the desires of the flesh, the joys of hatred, or the cravings of wealth.

And they belong to Him.

Long before my children were conceived in my womb, they were conceived by Christ. He has known them and loved them since the beginning of time. And He will continue to love them...long after they outgrow their innocence.

They are weak, but He is strong.

If I didn't know it before, I know it now.

Children are weak.

Vulnerable in every conceivable way and dependent on others for their very survival, they are completely at the mercy of the circumstances they were born into. Wealth or poverty, love or neglect...they have no say in the matter.

And yet...

He is strong.

As a newborn baby is weak, so our God is strong. A shelter in the storm, a light in the darkness, a peace that passes all understanding.

And in a world so filled with evil and despair, Jesus is our only hope.

Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.

Jesus would rather die on a cross than live without us. He took on the sins of the world, from ages past through today, and suffered so that WE may live!

What must that have felt like for Him? The perfect and holy Son of God, bearing the vile sins of all mankind. His own Father unable to look upon Him, unable to tolerate such depravity for even a moment.

How could He love us so much that He would willingly submit to this?

And then I think of my sweet babies...and I know.

As a parent, I've been given a small taste of God's love for His children. Just a taste, and I'm nearly overwhelmed.

My prayer is that my children grow up truly knowing their Savior's love. That Jesus becomes more to them than a name in a song. My greatest desire is that Luke and Evie someday have a deep and personal relationship with Christ. That God is more real to them than anything else in their lives.

I want nothing more than for my kids to have a hunger for God's Word, a desire for God's will, and a thirst for God's peace.

And as I tuck my son in and turn off the light, I pause at the doorway and gaze at him in the soft glow cast from his night-light. He's curled on his side, his sippy cup and his Elmo doll tucked securely against his chest.

He realizes I haven't left yet, and lifts his head to smile at me in the darkness.

My heart contracts painfully and a new song plays through my mind.

Jesus loves him, this I know....




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Excrementus Maximus

Let's talk about poop.

No wait...come back!!

Take a deep, calming breath. Good.

Now sit back down and let's rationalize. Poop is a normal part of life...no different than sleeping and eating. We all do it, so why the embarrassment?

Oh, sure...there was a time in my life when feces used to bother me. A time when the thought of excrement being rubbed onto my fingers/knuckles/arms would have me huddled in a corner, rocking and humming quietly to myself.

But now...

Now, I'm a mom. And poop is just another mess to clean.

All moms come to this realization rather quickly. There's even some prenatal training on it, I believe...or there should be. Maybe even a chapter devoted to it in "What to Expect When Your Expecting."

For as long as a baby takes in, something must be taken out.

At this, I am an old pro.

I was changing Evie's messy diaper the other day and, the second I undid the tabs and lifted her legs, the little stinker made a grab for it. Before I could say "undigested raisins," she had pulled the diaper out from under her bottom and was about to get a handful of....last night's dinner.

But the past two years have honed my reflexes (move over, Jackie Chan) and I snatched up the other end before she was able to touch anything gross.

Then, the tug of war began.

We were pretty evenly matched. Me only having the use of one hand (the other was busy holding Evie's legs and trying to keep her poop-caked bottom off the carpet) and Evie....well, let's just say she was determined.

On and on went the stalemate....until, finally, I gave one last desperate tug and my (bionic enhanced?) daughter lost her grip.

My moment of elation was short-lived.

You see, there are laws out there. "Laws of Physics," if you will.

It turns out that when you forcefully yank an open, soiled diaper from the hands of a toddler, the sudden release of energy will cause said diaper to whip backwards, flip over, and land on your arm....poop-side-down.

But I am a mom.

So instead of screaming hysterically and jumping (fully clothed) into a scalding hot shower, I simply sighed quietly and finished changing Evie. Then, I calmly removed the worst of it with a wet-wipe, and scrubbed off any invisible "residue" in the sink.

You see? No big deal.

Just another day at the office.

But let us examine for a moment what my reaction would have been if Evie had actually succeeded in her diaper raid.

There might have been some screeching, and possibly sobbing....maybe. And there's a remote possibility that I would have picked her up, held her at arm's length, and run around the room in a blind hysteria.

I know it seems counterintuitive, but poop on my kids bothers me WAY more than poop on myself. You see, I know that fecal matter is to be avoided. And, should I have some on my hands, I know to keep them away from my other body parts....say, my face or....my mouth.

I can't be certain that Luke and Evie will exercise such discretion.

And, unfortunately, poop fascinates young children.

Maybe it's the "forbidden fruit" concept, or maybe it just looks like a good time. I don't know. Whatever the reason, poop can be more appealing to toddlers than a roomful of shiny new toys.

And poop in an actual toilet has to be the pièce de résistance.

Luke has been going to the bathroom by himself (at home, anyway) for the past several months. He doesn't need to be reminded, he doesn't need to be helped. Except for hand-washing and the occasional help with getting his pants back on, he is completely independent.

But every once in a while, he lets his curiosity get the better of him.

In the past, I've gotten suspicious and barged into the bathroom to find him in the following positions:

• Sitting with his feet in the toilet bowl.
• Standing in a suspicious looking puddle next to the toilet.
• Leaning over the toilet seat and dipping his hair into the water.
  

You may be wondering why I continue to allow him unsupervised toilet trips. Well, other than the fact that I'm fundamentally lazy (and pooping can take a really long time), I suppose you can say I'm just a gambler at heart. For every bad move I catch Luke in, there are at least twenty "smooth transactions" that take place.

Those are pretty good odds, really.

And besides, it's just some dirty water. What's the worst that could happen? A quick trip to the bathtub for some vigorous scrubbing and voilà...good as new.

Of course, all that changed when I walked in on Luke last week. The child was bent over the toilet seat with his hands down in the bowl, grabbing around for his poop like it was some elusive prize in a cracker jack box.

Some days, even I've reached my limits.



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