The Day I Drank Urine (and other shameful things)

Let me tell this story in reverse. Somewhere around midnight, my daughter squeezed into bed between me and my husband in my parents’ camping cabin. She just couldn’t sleep in her bunk. I got tired of balancing on the edge of the mattress, so I decided to move to her empty bed. 

Where I found a large wet spot in the middle.

Since she was still awake I asked, “Honey, did you wet the bed?”

She shook her head adamantly.

“Um, then why does it smell like pee?” My mommy-detective skills were on the case.

After some coaxing, she admitted it. But the oddity was that her pajamas weren’t wet. At all.

Prior to this she had been a tired mess and couldn’t settle down to sleep. None of the usual comforts were working. And no wonder since her sheets were drenched. Normally, however, she’ll admit it if she has an accident. Why was this night different?

Back up about an hour.

We had our kids brush their teeth before tucking them into their bunks and I left a small yellow cup about half full of water on the shelf. We read the Bible, gave them kisses, and went outside to sing some campfire songs and gaze at the stars with my parents–our last campout with them before returning overseas.

Eventually, my daughter came out, frustrated that she couldn’t fall asleep. She needed us in the cabin with her. We were tired, too, so we obliged. As I tucked her back into bed (which she never really did lay down in) I saw that little yellow cup. It was full. That’s odd, I thought. But since a pitcher of water sat not far from it I figured that it had been refilled by some thirsty little chap.

I took a sip. My face contorted. For some inexplicable reason, I swallowed.

“Ugh, that was awful! What was that? Did you put something in that water?”

My daughter sat watching me blankly.

I sniffed it. “Was that pee?!?!”

“No.” She sounded convincing.

“Are you sure you didn’t somehow pee in that cup?”

Head shake.

“Did your brother pee in that cup?” I eyed her big brother who lay suspiciously sound asleep in the top bunk.

Head shake.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

Hm.

I found a new cup, poured some real water into it, and downed it, swishing it several times in my cheeks, uncertain if my instinct was right about it being urine. Just maybe, a kid found some medicine or salt packets and vinegar in the cabin that they dumped into it. Silly, I know. But I wanted to believe my little girl. So we went to bed.

Or tried to. Fast forward now to when I discovered the wet spot in her bed an hour later. After she finally admitted it was pee, I dared to ask again. “Did I drink your pee, baby?”

Eventually, a nod.

I couldn’t suppress my giggle. By this time, sleepy-hysteria had set in. Once I could speak, I pushed on her playfully and said, “You know, I’m going to get you back someday when you’re eighteen and a really cute boy likes you. I’m going to tell him this story.” I don’t think she comprehends the significance of this yet.

My husband took the wet sheets off her bed and the three of us nestled in for an uncomfortable night’s sleep.

She eventually apologized to me for lying, but I certainly couldn’t hold it against her. She did try not to make a mess. Besides, can you imagine her horror and shame as she watched her mom pick up and actually drink from that urine-filled yellow cup? And I don’t really blame her for not wanting to use the outhouse in the dark. 

It reminds me of another little girl, also seven years old, who was the youngest in a school play. She didn’t often have potty accidents, but one day, during play practice, she just really had to go. She begged the director to let her use the bathroom, but she was told to wait until the song was over. During this song, the children marched in a circle around the stage. She couldn’t hold it any longer, so out it came. However, rather than leave an obvious wet trail behind her, she cleverly decided to only pee each time she walked past the same spot on the stage. Maybe the others would think it was spilled water. 

Needless to say, she was found out. But would she admit it? Oh no. She’d die first. Some gracious person brought her the extra school sweatpants anyway, which she reluctantly wore. Because wearing soggy pants isn’t very comfortable.

Nor is sleeping in a soggy bed. Nor is ___(fill in the blank with the current mess you’re in)___.

There are so many reasons we do silly things and then try to cover them up. Fear. Laziness. Regret. Selfishness. Vengeance. Pride. Desperation. But mostly, I think, shame.

We’re Adam and Eve, hiding in the bushes from a God who obviously already knows where they are and what happened when He calls out, “Where are you? What have you done?”

We’re Jonah, running away from the Lord, then sulking in anger after witnessing His kindness to our enemies.

We’re Abram, lying about Sarai being his sister. Twice. (Technically this was a half-truth as she was his half-sister, but it was still spoken out of fear.)

We’re David, sending Uriah to the front of the battle lines to die after David slept with his wife.

We’re Peter, vehemently refusing to know Jesus when confronted by a servant girl on the night of Jesus’ arrest.

And I’m that little girl who thought she could hide her accident by peeing on the same spot each time she marched around the circle.

I don’t have to tell you that hiding our mistakes never works. It only breeds shame and increases our horror when we’re found out.

But the end of this story? It’s forgiveness. 

It’s a mom who could laugh at the disgusting reality of drinking her daughter’s pee and still love her every bit as much. More than that, it’s a Father who cleans up our messes for us and takes the shame we deserve. Naked. Beaten. Spat upon. Rejected. All for our sin and shame.

Why should I hide from one whose love is so great and unbreakable? Why should I cower in fear and try to cover my own mistakes? Where, instead, should I go when shame intimidates me with its threats of rejection, abandonment, and loss if I expose my failure and weakness?

“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” (John 6:68) And this life, this never-ending life, is abundant, free, and already mine in Christ.

No more shame. No more fear. No more hiding in the darkness. Let this be your invitation to confess, repent, and run, exposed and vulnerable, to the arms of Love. 

It’s never too late.

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Here are some questions that can help you examine the state of your soul with the Spirit’s gentle help:

• What pulled me away from you today, Father?
• When did I live freely in your love? When did I live as a slave to sin?
• What relationships did I damage today?
• When did I choose my own way and ignore your conviction?
• What or who am I trying to control?
• Have I done something recently to protect my image and hide a mistake?