4:00 a.m.

One of the fun things about having kids is never knowing if you'll get a full night's sleep or not. Kind of like some sort of cruel lottery - 'Ooooo - maybe tonight's the night!'

Last night was not one of those nights. Around 4 a.m., I had just put the baby back to bed after feeding him, when I heard cries from the older one coming from the next room. Since I was already up, I went over to see what was going on. We're at Grandma and Grandpa's for Thanksgiving, so I guessed that he had probably woken up and forgotten where he was. So I go in and he's sitting up in his bed, crying his eyes out. I sat down next to him, rubbed his back, and asked him what was wrong. He just kept crying, so I pulled him close to me for a hug, and that's when I felt the wet pants. Yup - he had peed in his bed. He's pretty new at the potty training thing, but up to this point, he hadn't wet the bed. But he was crying the most heartbreaking cry and he was wet and the bed was wet, so I stripped his pants and got him some new underwear, and then stripped the bed and was ready to tuck him back in, when I realized his pj top was also wet. So the poor kid already has no pants, and I'm taking his shirt also. I told him to hang on a moment while I got him a new shirt. I went back into my room, and when I came back, he was curled up on the floor shivering, and still sniffing a bit. I picked him up, put on his warm shirt and gave him a big hug before tucking him back into bed.

I went back into my room, where my husband had woken up, so I briefly told him what had happened. Then I laid there, trying to get back to sleep, but all I could think about was my poor little boy, sitting in his own pee, so sad and helpless to do anything about it, and I thought, "This is the time when I love being a mother." Strange, but true. It's not that I enjoy waking up in the middle of the night to change a boy and a bed, but it's the fact that I can take care of my son, who at that moment needs me desperately. My child, who is utterly helpless, laying in his own filth and misery, and I can make all that go away. This child is just pitiful -- and yet my heart swells with love to see him and want to help him.

And then my thoughts started to wander again, and a view of God cleared in my mind. How much more so are we pitiful little children, mired in our own filth and sin, wallowing in our helplessness and stench, unable to do anything about it, when He walks in, and is stirred with compassion and love for us. He lifts us out of it all, cleans us off, and gathers us in His embrace. I know my son was grateful for my help; I saw the look on his face as he snuggled into a dry bed once again. Where's my look of gratitude for my Father? Or am I so calloused to His mercy on my pitiful estate that I shrug it off, or worse, consider it unworthy of my thanks?

Just my thoughts in the night.....

November 23, 2006