My little 12-month-old boy was sitting up, having just thrown up his latest meal. The room reeked of vomit...and what was that other sweet odor? Oh yes, he had clearly pooped in his pajamas, too. He did not look good, he was crying out and holding up his hands, begging for someone to pick him up. I just laughed. I told him when he got himself all cleaned up, I'd be glad to hold him, and then I went back to bed. "That little baby can take care of himself" I said to Traci as I lulled myself back to sleep.
When we were done, Traci headed back to bed and I went in and checked on AJ one more time. As I sat there thinking about him holding out his hands, begging for me to pick him up -- I kid you not -- I began to tear up. It wasn't just the foul odor that still filled my nostrils (I should have shot a spray of F'breeze up there!) it was the reality of the moment, the clarity of what had just happened.
And here's the thing -- God doesn't wait for you and I to clean up before He steps in. He doesn't say, "You've lived a bad life, Joe. I'd like to have a relationship with you, but you're going to have to do more to make me happy; you're going to have to clean up your messy life and then I'll hang out with you." Instead He comes to me in my spiritual filth and offers a clean slate. He offers to do the cleaning, He just asks me to trust and follow Him.
AJ gets a sister and I learn how to sing.