My three-year-old niece is potty training. She did something really hilarious the last time we saw her. This is only funny because she is my niece, not my daughter.
She talks pretty well now, so she came and announced to us that she had to use the bathroom. Number 2, it was. So we all urged her to go sit on the potty and deal with the business that had arisen.
She didn't make it.
But she's a considerate lass. She walked into her bedroom and dug out the wet wipes, brought them back into the living room and handed them to her dad (my brother).
"Here's some wipes, daddy!"
We all burst into laughter. The consensus around the room was that if your daughter can hand deliver the means to cleaning up the mess, there's no reason it should have been created in the first place.
As amusing as that was, it's sobering to think that the same principle applies to me sometimes. God has given me guidelines. He's showed me the neatness of his commands, how his direction can save me from the soil of sin, apathy, passivity and laziness.
But many times, I don't make it. And my response is the same as my little niece.
"Daddy - Lord - Here are some wipes! Clean me up!"
God is a good father. If we come to him and ask to be cleaned, he washes us. But he probably shares a similar brand of amusement every time we fail. Shouldn't I be past the potty-training phase of Christianity?
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