I was five years old and probably socially awkward even for that age.
And I had crapped my pants.
In kindergarten, just before taking the bus home, I messed my britches. Sounds horrifying and disgusting, I know, but it happened and I think it’s time we all talked about it.
I don’t remember the incident itself. I just remember the bus ride home. I must have known something was terribly wrong because I sat in the very front seat and anxiously awaited the moment when my house would appear through the windshield.
The problem, however, was that all the other kids on the bus still had noses. And it was a big problem. It became an even bigger problem when one particularly large nine-year-old used his olfactory gift to locate me and call me out. “It’s HIM”, he announced, with his finger in my face.
Here is where I learned about a certain kind of love. I learned about self-sacrifice and leadership. I learned about protecting the weak, about doing what is right despite the difficulty that comes with it. I learned what it is to take care of people.
My much-older-than-me neighbor Matt interrupted the (correct) accusation. He had journeyed all the way from the coolest section of the back of the bus down to where I nervously sat. Matt dismissed the Bully then said something amazing: “It’s just that stinky car in front of us, right buddy?” Then he sat with me for the rest of the ride, the whole bus having accepted his theory. Of course!, I thought, the car in front of us stinks like a five year old with bowel control issues!
Yes, Matt. Thank you. It was that car. Yes.
This is burned into my memory. I needed so desperately for someone else, someone bigger and smarter than I, to have more courage than I had at that point.
I am so grateful that I had to go through this. I am so grateful for the times in my life when someone else took care of me. It is because of times like this that I am prepared to love on people when it is messy and uncomfortable. And that’s usually when love is needed the most.
I knew then what Matt had done for me. More importantly, going through that ordeal had given me a frame of reference which allowed me to begin to comprehend what God had done for me. There is a huge difference, but still, I was five. This taste of social rescue gave me the smallest glimpse into the eternal rescue I got with God’s sacrifice of his Son.
What about you? Have you been rescued from a totally desperate situation? Is it ever OK to blog about poop?