Yesterday I turned my back too long, a dangerous thing for the mother of two crafty kids. When I finally investigated the too-quiet I found London and Eve, their bodies covered in tempera paint. “We painted ourselves!” London said with glee.

Twenty  minutes earlier London had creeped into my room and asked to paint. I’d said, “No.” I reminded my green-armed, red-legged eldest of this and she said, “Eve told me you said, ‘Yes.’” I looked at Eve. She made her guilty face.

I fumed. Tossed the girls into the bathtub. Had to drain the water twice. I scrubbed the paint-dripped floors and the paint-splattered dining room table. All the while muttering…

And then I went into the bathroom. I knelt beside the tub and washed Eve’s hair with strawberries and cream. I  scrubbed London’s long legs with a rag. I lifted Eve out of the water and wrapped her in a big pink towel. I held her shoulders and looked in her innocent blue eyes. I held her. She smelled clean. 

I thought, “Nothing in the world is as perfect as this.” Except, of course, pulling her sister from the tub ten seconds later. 

I love that God washes us. As I saw today, a little water can make all the difference, the memories of disobedience and the mess of consequences wiped away. I love that God sees us like I see Eve and London in those perfect post-bath moments: clean, fresh, pure, perfect.

Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water. Hebrews 10:22