For the Love of Puke

Monday, August 31, 2009

**Disclaimer** The following post may be a little graphic for those with a low puke tolerance.

Before this weekend, I had spent one night of each of the last 2 weekends covered in Soren's puke. Not cute baby spit up; real, live, acidic, burn your throat, let me show you what I ate for dinner puke. The first time, I had just settled in for a relaxing evening at the cabin while Erich got crying baby duty when a frantic call for help floated down the stairs. I went up to find Erich and Soren doused in the aromatic orange stuff. I quickly started removing Soren's clothes and then took him so Erich could begin to change. To find myself moments later covered in the orange stuff myself. Soren and I spent most of the next hour sitting on a chair in the bathroom, as I held him close to me, avoiding the puke side of my clothing, hopeing it was over. Lots of worry later, he seemed to have finished and we put an exhausted little boy to bed.

The next weekend, Erich managed to avoid the bath, as he took a phone call. So, I went in to comfort a sobbing baby and moments later... found myself covered in puke. I was wiser this time, standing in one spot for the next wave and not bothering to remove any clothing just yet. I was able to get Erich's attention and Soren and I moved quickly to the bathtub to sit out the episode while Erich started in on the carpet. Again, I spent most of the next hour sitting in the tub with my puke-y clothes while a mostly naked baby once again showed me what he ate for dinner -- all of it.

But somehow, this didn't bother me. If it had been some random guy's puke. Hose me down ASAP -- and a sanitizing shower. Erich's puke -- still disgusting. My own puke, yes, I still want a shower right away. But I all I was thinking about was holding my sad, tired, sick little boy and wishing I could make him feel better. It reminded me of an illustration a fellow youth pastor had once shared about a friend of his. This dad had gone to his crying son in the middle of the night to comfort him, only to find him covered in poop when he picked him up and held him close. But he held him until he was calm. And his observation was, this is what God does for his children. We are all covered in the poo of our sin and God loves us and holds us close when we are hurting. When I heard this, I thought it was a poignant and powerful illustration.

But now, as a parent, I'm not so sure. Poop and puke from my children are just not that disgusting. I mean, yes there are times when I open up a diaper to find that unpleasant surprise, but it doesn't make me queasy or fear I'll lose my lunch (although I sometimes fear Erich will; dads seem to have a different tolerance level). I've spent the last week thinking, that's a great illustration to share with high school students, who haven't yet experienced this type of joy in parenthood, but for those of us who have? Maybe not. Until it dawned on me today. Maybe that's the point. When His children are hurting, all God can think about is holding us close. It doesn't bother Him that we're all covered in puke.