February 21, 2019

Mom Got My Mud on Her!

I loved to make mud pies.

One day in particular it had rained hard right before I got home, and the ground was gloriously steamy, mushy, and muddy. Oh, happy day!

My mother had informed me earlier that we had some friends visiting and she didn’t want me making mud pies. I had forgotten. Well, as you can already imagine, I remembered her instructions the moment she called me into the house.

Feelings of dread and fear washed over me like sugar glaze on a hot Krispy Kreme doughnut. What would I do? Where could I run and hide? I quickly thought about washing myself off with the water hose; but that would have made an even bigger mess. I had no choice but to come when called, face my mother’s full wrathful judgment, and take my rightful punishment.

As I shuffled slowly to the back door, dripping from head to toe with the musky-earthy combination of mud and sweat, caked with bits of foliage and smelling like a Billy goat, I looked directly at my horrified and rightfully angry mother. I just stood there and, as little boys in trouble who know what’s coming often do, I began to sob softly.

For what seemed like hours no movement or sound emanated from my mother or our guests. Then my mother silently got down on her knees, lifted my grungy, dirty face, looked me in the eyes, kissed my disgustingly dirty forehead, wrapped her arms around me, picked me up, cleaned me up, and shortly thereafter re-presented me to our guests: clean, combed, well-dressed, and smelling much better.

I can think of no better example of what God has done for you and me. “You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:6-8).

So in this month that focuses on love and relationships, take some time to thank God for loving us enough to die for us, in effect getting our mud on Him, cleaning us from the filth of our own sinful rebellion, and dressing us in His perfectly spotless robe of righteousness.

Omar Miranda, a counselor and writer, lives with his family in unplain Plainville, Georgia.