I Peed the Bed (& Learned About Grace).

Well… it’s been a while.

So why not start strong with an embarrassing story?

In fact, this is my earliest memory of being absolutely mortified.

That might sound dramatic—but you don’t understand how far back my fear of failure goes. So let me explain.

Picture this: it’s around 2004 or 2005. We’re living in the first house I can remember. I am officially “potty trained.”

Or so we thought.

Until one morning, I woke up.

And I had peed the bed.

Now—what was my first instinct?

Tell my parents? Absolutely not.

I knew immediately that I had to fix this before anyone discovered what had happened. So naturally, I did the most logical thing a five-year-old could do: I started throwing everything I owned on top of it. Blankets. Stuffed animals. Random toys. Possibly a book or two. Because if you can’t solve the problem… you can at least bury it.

I changed clothes to remove any evidence, though I’m confident I still looked suspicious at best. And while the details get a little fuzzy here, one thing is crystal clear: when my mom came into my room to get me ready for kindergarten, I did everything in my power to keep her away from my bed.

Did it work?

No. Of course not. I was not the gifted actress then that I am now.

The closer she got, the more desperate I became—until it was painfully obvious something was wrong.

And then she saw it.

Let’s pause the story there for a second, because you might be thinking, Why in the world would you share this with the internet?

Here’s why.

As I was telling this story to a group of middle school girls recently (for a purpose, I swear), God gently reminded me how much this mirrors our spiritual lives.

Now, let me be clear—peeing the bed as a five-year-old is not a sin. But for the sake of the analogy… stay with me.

Because at some point, all of us find ourselves in a predicament: we mess up. We sin. And then we have to decide how we’re going to respond.

My instinct at five years old was to hide.

And if I’m honest? That instinct followed me straight into adulthood.

That’s often how we respond to sin—not always by pretending it never happened (though sometimes that’s exactly what we do), but by trying to cover it.

We cover it the same way I covered that bed.

By over-performing spiritually.

By striving to do good without actually partnering with Jesus.

By avoiding prayer, Scripture, and real intimacy with God.

All in an effort to keep God at a distance from the mess.

We’re not denying the sin exists—we’re just trying to manage who sees it.

Scripture puts it bluntly:

“People who conceal their sins will not prosper, but if they confess and turn from them, they will receive mercy.”

Proverbs 28:13

I’ve been there more times than I can count—aware that something needs to change, yet trying to compensate in every way except honesty. Maybe you’ve been there too. Maybe you’re there right now.

But here’s what changed everything for me: learning to go straight to God when I mess up instead of running from Him.

And now, I can finish the story.

When my mom pulled back everything I had used to hide the mess, all she said was, “Oh, Elizabeth—you peed the bed.”

No anger.

No disappointment.

Just a simple acknowledgment of what was true.

And then she took the sheets off my bed and washed them.

That’s it.

She didn’t say, “Fix it yourself.”

She didn’t shame me.

She didn’t lecture me.

Because I was five. I didn’t have the ability to clean up my mess on my own.

And that’s the point.

My mom couldn’t help me until the truth was out in the open.

In our relationship with God, the difference is this: He already knows.

But the similarity remains—He is the only one who can clean up the mess.

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

 1 John 1:9

Confession isn’t for God’s information.

It’s for our healing.

If we live in hiddenness, nothing ever gets clean. The mess stays. The shame grows. The freedom delays.

But when we agree with what’s true—when we stop hiding and invite God in—He does what only He can do: He washes. He restores. He renews.

That’s the heart of redemption.

From the very moment sin entered the world, God wasn’t shocked, offended, or scrambling to figure out a response. He already had a plan—not to distance Himself from humanity, but to move closer. Scripture tells us that while we were still sinners, Christ came for us (Romans 5:8).

Before we ever thought to confess, God had already decided to pursue.

This is the part we often miss: God doesn’t wait for confession because He’s withholding help. He waits because relationship requires honesty.

Confession isn’t a prerequisite for love—it’s an invitation into it.

God’s heart has never been to stand at a distance with crossed arms, waiting for us to get our act together. His heart is the same heart that moved toward Adam and Eve in the garden when they were hiding, asking, “Where are you?” .

Not because He didn’t know—but because He wanted them to come out of the shadows and back into relationship.

When we confess, we aren’t alerting God to our failure. We’re agreeing with Him about reality. And the moment we do, grace rushes in.

This is the heart of God:

The Lord is compassionate and merciful, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love. He will not constantly accuse us, nor remain angry forever. He does not punish us for all our sins; he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve. For his unfailing love toward those who fear him is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth. He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west.

Psalm 103:8-12

That means His default posture toward us isn’t disappointment—it’s mercy. He is not irritated by our weakness. He is moved by it. Like a loving parent, He steps closer when we admit we can’t fix the mess on our own.

So here’s the moral of the story:

Shame tells us to hide.

Grace tells us to come close.

God doesn’t ask for secrecy—He asks for honesty and intimacy.

Not because He needs information, but because He desires relationship.

We hide because we think disappointment is waiting.

But every single time, it’s grace.

So today, I wonder if you’re hiding something. Maybe not from everyone—maybe just from God.

If you are, hear this clearly: God sees you, and He isn’t disgusted or annoyed. He sits with patience and compassion, waiting- not to scold you, but to help you. To wash what you can’t wash. To restore what you can’t fix. To carry what you were never meant to carry alone.

So, What if, instead of fearing judgment, we trusted His heart?

What if we believed that the same God who forgives is the God who cleans, heals, and stays?

Because freedom doesn’t begin when we get it right.

It begins when we come close.

And grace has been waiting the whole time.