He'll pee in it. He just won't poo. He's even pooed in it before! Why won't he do it again? Even with promises of a poo poo pizza party, copious chocolate, Monkey Treehouse, and a trip to the toy store, he wants his nasty ole diaper.
Unbeknownst to Levi, I get frustrated with him, but have learned not to push him too hard. Then, just this morning, I said to him, "Hey man, you can do it. And it's much better, you'll see. Much easier. You just need to trust us," but I surrendered to his request for a diaper. I sat down with my coffee and let him go get some "Pwi-cee" (privacy), so I had the rare occasion to be alone with a thought or two. Then it occurred to me.
I'm the little stinker who'd rather sit in his poop than let it go, quite simply and freely, down the pipes.
This can be the technical end of the blog, so that writing purists won't get onto me for insulting their intelligence. So pardon the ensuing commentary... in fact, I'll put some spaces below so you guys won't think of me as the writing amateur that I am.
(is this enough?)
God is always there, giving us that inner voice that we've been taught and socialized to suppress. He knows what's best for us, and can encourage us and lead us directly to the potty, but he's set things up so that we have (at least) the illusion of choice. Like a faithful parent, he will continue to encourage us toward the goal, but like a defiant toddler, we continually choose to separate ourselves from that encouragement. This might be why I'm still wearing a diaper at 31 years old.
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