My friend was out with her two preschool boys, and decided to stop in a store. Not thinking about the privacy she usually maintains at home, she took the boys with her into a dressing room to try on some skirts.

Watching her carefully, her four-year-old said, “Mommy! You have pretty underwear. I really like them. They are very pretty!”

My friend was thankful that she was behind doors and could stay there for a bit until the pink faded from her cheeks. But his next comment brought an even darker shade: “But Mommy, you have a hole in your underwear. It’s a little one. I see it right there in the back.”

Four-year-olds have a way of making private rooms seem not-so-private, don’t they? Our kids also see beneath the pretty layers that we add to our hearts. My kids know exactly who I am–the good, the bad, and the holey. And in this way, they see me the way God does.

I don’t have any privacy from God. And while he’s not so concerned with the status of my underwear, the condition of my heart concerns him most of all.

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