Well, today's my birthday. Yea! One more year, no big deal. What is a big deal is the fact that my children are getting older, sad but true. Not long ago, I had an experience with my four year old.

When the line, “I’ve got to go,” is spoken it is not too difficult to understand what is meant. “I’ve got a lunch meeting in half an hour across town so, I’ve got to go.” “I’ve a dentist appointment. I’ve got to go.” “I know I only have a 2’ putt left for birdie but my wife is in labor. I’ve got to go.” Usually when someone says, “I’ve got to go,” what they mean is, “I’ve got to leave this place because I need to be somewhere else.” However, when your four year old son screams, “I’VE GOT TO GOOOO,” as you’re walking down the dairy isle in the local grocery store the line takes on a slightly new meaning.

It was around ten on a Monday morning and it was just “the guys.” We were on a morning adventure which translated into a milk run at a neighborhood grocery store. As we entered the sliding glass doors, we had our usual philosophical debate on the merits of walking or riding. We agreed that riding in a grocery basket had far greater benefits then walking. That is how I ended up pushing a four year old boy, in a grocery basket, in the back of Kroger, on a crowed -mostly with women - milk aisle.

We picked up a few bananas and a loaf of bread, then we closed in on our intended milk target. I rounded a corner and spied the milk not more than twenty feet ahead. As I pushed the cart up next to the dairy case - performing a pass and park move on a retired couple that would have made Jeff Gordon proud - Noah got eerily quite. (As is common knowledge: no four year old stops talking unless they are eating, crying, or sleeping. So, his quietness was a bad omen.) Finding a non-lethal expiration date on a gallon of way to expensive 2%, I snatched our quarry, secured it in our basket, and headed for home. Success! No ruined displays, no broken glass, I didn’t even have to apologize to a stranger for my child awkwardly colliding with them (usually because my kids like to walk backwards into people for some odd reason). All I had left to do was pay and we were home free. But, it was not to be. My previously silent four year old let fly with that heart stopping statement, “I’VE GOT TO GOOOOO!” Heads turned. “I’VE GOT TO POO-PEEEEE!” Carts stopped. “Shhhhhh,” I tried to squelch the situation before it got out of hand. “DADDY! I’VE GOT TO GOOOO! NOW!” Too late, I heard chuckles. My head dropped. I whispered, “Not so loud, son.” “BUT I’VE GOT TO GO!” he continued yelling as I raced toward the restrooms.

Embarrassed. Yes. Embarrassed is exactly what I was. I was embarrassed because my son proclaimed to the grocery world that he needed to “poo-pee.” To complete strangers, my son was divulging private details about life. Embarrassed. Did all those who heard the screaming think my son was incontinent? Embarrassed. Did they think I was an unconcerned parent? Embarrassed. Did they believe I didn’t know the finer points of public decorum and if I did could I not teach them to my son? Embarrassed.

Red faced and still trying to quell the bathroom monster I silently wished I’d left my son at home because away from foreign ears, away from public scrutiny, I didn’t have to worry about Noah embarrassing me. However, we were not at home and I was embarrassed. When he first started yelling the thought crossed my mind for a split second, “Pretend he’s not yours.” But I couldn’t. I couldn’t pretend the kid in the cart that I was pushing didn’t belong to me. No matter how embarrassed I was, I couldn’t disown my child. For good or ill, he was mine. I’ve kissed boo-boos for him, I’ve laughed at nonsense “knock-knock” jokes he’s told. I’ve held him for hours as fever sapped his energy and he laid glassy-eyed like a Raggedy Andy on my shoulder. I was there at his birth and I’ve walked with him through his, albeit, short life. That child is mine and I cannot, I will not, disown him.

Since that embarrassing scene with my son in the grocery store a few weeks ago I’ve reflected on his action, and my embarrassment, quite a lot. In another humorous, but slightly disconcerting, moment of life an amazing truth was once again pounded into my stubborn heart.

Do you ever think that God is embarrassed by us? In no way do I pretend to know the mind of God, but I’m inclined to think He is. I know my own life way too well to pretend there haven’t been a few embarrassing moments for Him. I can imagine being pushed along by the Father, I’m babbling nonsense about Creation and Being while He, nods his magnificent head, eyes sparkling as he listens. And as we move through the aisles of life I realize I do such embarrassing things. I intentionally belittle an acquaintance…I participate in self-destructive behavior…I refuse to help someone in need… I refuse help from godly shaped people…I get anxious about insignificant events…and the list goes on. And I believe that God could be embarrassed, but here is the thing: unlike me God is not embarrassed for Himself, He’s embarrassed for us, on our behalf. And that is a big difference. God’s done nothing to be embarrassed for, we have and he knows it. He also knows that others know it.

No matter how idiotic we behave, no matter how easy it might be for Him to disown us, He doesn’t. One of the most astonishing truths in the Universe is that God won’t disown His children. My heart beats fast when I read Hosea. When you get to Hosea 11, God has already lamented for how idiotic His children behaved. He is completely disgusted with how they acted (and there will be repercussions for their disobedience). However, they are still his children. “When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son. But the more I called Israel, the further they went from me. They sacrificed to the Baals and they burned incense to images. It was I who taught Ephraim to walk, taking them by the arms; but they did not realize it was I who healed them. I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love; I lifted the yoke from their neck and bent down to feed them” (11:1-4). And then comes this soul wrenching line, “How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel?” (11:8). Can you hear God’s unbreakable love? You can hear his pain for sure, but underneath all of his grief there is an unfathomable mercy. Listen again, “How can I give you up…Nancy? How can I hand you over,…Tom?”

See, for good or ill I am a child of God’s. He has healed my wounds, lovingly taken delight in my innocence, been a fortress of strength when my world was falling apart, and most importantly, sacrificed himself so that I could be free. He was there from my inception and has walked with me through this, albeit, short existence. God looks at me - like I look at my son - except he looks at me (like he looks at all his children) through the glory of the cross and says, “That child is mine. He means too much. I cannot, I will not disown him.”