MY ONLY GRANDSON threw up in the palm of my hand yesterday.
I was holding him at the time. He’s 11 months old and sick with a stomach bug, it seems.
His upchuck didn’t actually target my hand. Instead, my hand intercepted his upchuck. Half of it, anyhow. The rest rolled down my left pant leg and onto the carpet I was trying to protect.
As I stood there with my left arm holding my grandson and my right hand holding a scoop of my grandson’s twice-warmed breast milk I thought, “This is kinda yucky.”
I think the same thing when my grandson or my only granddaughter, nine months old, fill their diaper with an explosion of friendly fire that consumes everything on them and that sprays me into collateral damage.
“The greatest love a person can show is to die for his friends” (John 15:13).
A close second would be to catch their upchuck or to change their diaper.
There’s nothing unique about me catching my grandson’s gutchuck or changing messy diapers while smiling and singing happy songs.
Love does that to us.
It makes us do creepy things for the benefit of people who need creepy things done to them.
I’m using “creepy things” in a good way here.
Out of curiosity, what creepy things has love made you do?
This is not a rhetorical question. I’m wondering how far love can push us.