The mud on our jeans

Tears are not uncommon on 2nd grade recess. Skinned knees, hurt feelings, accidental (?) pushes and reports that "she's not my friend anymore" swarm 2 feet below me, all of them wondering if I can fix it and asking in one way or another a fundamentally human question: am I going to be okay?

Sometimes, thought, the teary-eyed ones don't come to me, and I find myself drawn, like today, to the boy on the lonely bench. His hood is up because it's cold and because he doesn't want anyone to bother, or even see, him. 

I ask him what the matter is and he replies, shoulders shaking, that he tripped and got mud on his pants. 

"Oh kiddo, it'll wash!" I told him, repeating almost instinctually the advice my mom once gave me and likely my grandma once gave her (I wonder how many generations these phrases go back, but that's beside the point). 

He shook his head rather violently. "My mom will yell at me."

I bit my tongue a moment or two. He has mud on his jeans and is distraught at the idea of getting scolded and hurt for the sin of getting them dirty. 

...

Last night I woke up during a dreamed conversation with my cousin Ethan. He said he was going to preach about sin (this is what seminary has done to me, I guess, since he's never preached, although he is one of my favorite people to talk with...I'm guessing that's my dormant brain's connection), and so I asked him what his main point was and advised him to talk about sin in the light of grace and forgiveness. This is pretty profound, now that I think about it, and in line with Jesus' teachings. He talked an awful lot about what to do with the sister who sins against us (forgive as many times as it takes), the tax collector who can't even raise his head as he prays with his hood up in humble honesty and yet goes home right with God, the wasteful son who stumbles homeward with muddy jeans, destined to be a servant but welcomed into his Dad's arms. 

...

I turn again to the boy, and ask him a question I ought to ask myself more often: "what's more important- you, or the mud on your jeans? Which one matters most to your mom?"

Hiccup. "Me."

Of course, but how easily we forget it. The jeans will till have to be scrubbed, but they will wash. There is a way to be good again*, there is forgiveness, there are even new squelchy mud puddles to discover tomorrow. But under it all, there is the assurance that we are loved so much more than the mud on our jeans. 

And that means we are going to be okay. 

*A quote from one of my favorite books: The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini

**The pictures are not mine, they are respectively heisted from an outdoor clothing site (http://www.muddyfaces.co.uk/being_outdoors.php) and a random article about God's love (http://escapetoreality.org/2010/12/01/love-of-god/). I don't officially endorse either, although I enjoyed the article and definitely use clothes outdoors.