Muddy Babies

My children like to play outside. In the dirt. The get absolutely covered in the dirt. And then, somehow, they always find a source of water. The equation every Smith child inherently knows from birth is dirt + water = a great time. But to their mother, it just means mud. And mud is a mess.

Aiden came in today, caked in mud. It was all over his entire body, on his clothes, in his hair and even under every fingernail. He had gotten hurt outside, and had come looking for me, wanting me to pick him up, to hold and comfort him. And even though in one glance I took in the whole, filthy mess, I still picked him up, cradled his little body, and spoke words of love over him. Because he's my baby. Because I love him. Because he needs me.

And then I took him and cleaned him up. Bathed him. Scrubbed his fingernails clean. Shampooed his hair. Threw his mud-caked clothes into the wash.

And I thought about my Father. He does the very same thing. He sees me, a mess. Covered in junk. But when I run to Him, broken, hurting, He picks me up. He comforts me. He speaks words of love over me. Because I'm His. Because He loves me. Because I need Him.

He cleans me up too. He washes the junk, inside and out.

May I always remember to be like Him when my little ones need me. And always, always remember it when I am in need of Him. His arms are always open to me.