Sticks And Stones

As kids we had some silly put-downs. "I'm rubber, you're glue, whatever you say bounces off of me, and sticks on you!" or "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me." Then there was, "I know you are but what I am I?" and finally, the end-all-beat-all, "Your momma!" When you got into a verbal altercation on the playground in elementary school, most of the time was spent jockeying into position to be able to drop one of those put-downs on the other combatant. If you could time it just right, you could send him home crying. The crowd would cheer. You'd be a hero! But if you waited a split second too long or hurled the jab a little too early - it was over. You were the one crying. You were the one left to play freeze tag by yourself. And the other guy was the hero. Timing back then was the same as timing is now - everything. 

The funny thing about those put-downs is that they never really hurt too badly. Oh sure, you felt like the world was going to end because you ended up being the glue and everybody knew it. But after a good dinner and a good night's sleep, all was right with that world and you had the chance to be the rubber NOT the glue and if you played your cards right, somebody's momma was in big trouble mister. No matter who ended up being the rubber or who ended up being the glue, everything eventually bounced off or rolled off and none of it was any skin off of your nose or back. 

But then something changed. The same deathblow in elementary school wouldn't phase them in middle school or junior high. And you better be practiced up and really creative once you move into high school. And somewhere along the line you had better pick up some thick skin. Otherwise you would be sent home crying. And this time it would linger a while. This time, it mattered whether or not you were the rubber or the glue. 

And then the stakes got even higher as you entered adulthood. Now we're playing for keeps. Now, the one hurling the verbal jabs and the one taking them both end up crying - on the outside or inside, but crying nonetheless. Yes...the stakes ARE higher. And the wounds are deeper. And the healing takes longer. 

And rest assured, the hurt will come. "For unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on Him, but also to suffer for His sake.." Suffering is as much a part of life as is breathing. It's been said that if you aren't suffering now, either you just were or you soon will be. Suffering comes in all shapes and sizes. It comes from many different fronts. Sometimes the enemy is easily identified. Sometimes the enemy is wearing sheep's clothing. Sometimes the enemy stares back at us as we shave and brush our teeth in the morning. Sometimes you know the reason for the hurt, but sometimes - many times - you have to comfort yourself in the fact that God knows and you may never. 

One thing is constant - hurt hurts. Now, some will tell you that it doesn't hurt - that it's nothing, that it doesn't matter. But it does hurt, it is something, and it does matter. That's why it hurts. And even the hardest heart cracks when hit. Even the one who is seemingly so strong on the outside can be devastated by the hurt. Many of us have a veneer - it may be sarcasm or false strength or stoicism. But that thin film is easily penetrated by the carefully timed jab. And - it - hurts. 

But just as sure as the hurt comes, so does the healing. It may take some time, but it does come. It may take some work, but it does come. It may hurt like methiolade as it does it's work in you. But it does come. There will be times when you doubt. There will be days when the hurt SEEMS deeper. You will think the salve is insufficient for the wound. But there IS a Balm of Gilead. God does catch our tears in a bottle according to the Psalms and He understands. He heals. When that hurtful jab is hurled and connects on the soft tissue of a broken heart He wants us to do what we did when we were kids. He wants us to run home to Him. 

Sticks and stones may break my bones, and names are sure to hurt me. But whether I'm the rubber or the glue, or whether I know you are, but what I am is still in question, and no matter if my momma has been summoned - I have a Father up in Heaven who hears me and sees me and HE is inclined to help me. The Lord will deliver me in the time of trouble. 

And timing is everything. 

ct

My amazing family!

zoo trip

Published with Blogger-droid v1.3.9

Practice picture

handsome......
                    

                    

sweet........

beautiful.........

stunning.............

I Shot The Sheriff

I didn't want to do it. Not at first. He was my friend - or so I thought. He was exactly what my family needed - but I was wrong...dead wrong. When confronted with the facts there was really only one thing to do. So I shot him...I shot the sheriff.

I wish I had seen it sooner. He'd been a part of our family for over 8 years. He was an acquaintance longer than that. But when I heard how he talked to my family - I mean really heard him with open ears AND open mind - I had had enough. I can still hear her crying.

It wasn't her fault. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment. Gracie didn't want hot dogs for dinner. She said her belly hurt. The sheriff didn't seem to care. He told her we were having hot dogs or nothing! She frowned and cowered a little at his sternness and then timidly complied.

When my wife came to the table she had a ham sandwich. Ham is a little easier on Gracie's stomach, so she asked, in kind of a whine, if she could have some ham. Her mother graciously said "Yes." The sheriff didn't like that at all. He hated it when someone contradicted his wishes - his demands. That was his first rule, sort of an unwritten one - never defy the sheriff.

As Gracie ate quietly and gingerly, still aware of her upset stomach and the glare of the sheriff, the sheriff said, "Well Gracie - I guess you got what you wanted." Sick or not, she had gone against his wishes. And with one heartless turn of a phrase he had taken care of her willful disobedience and her selfishness. What happened next makes ME sick. Gracie bowed her head and let her hair cover her face (she got that from her mother). Then came the tears. One by one they fell - like great drops of rain. Down they came - tears, countenance, spirits. That's when I decided that the sheriff had to go.

Once he was gone I was able to see all the damage the sheriff had done. It would take a lot to heal the hurt, drive out the fear, and restore our home to health. So I hired a shepherd.

You see, a sheriff bends and breaks the will over the law - but the shepherd binds the heart to the Chief Shepherd, the Good Shepherd, the Great Shepherd. Don't get me wrong, the shepherd has rules. He uses his rod to guard and to discipline - a rod that is in his hand quite often around our house. But he also has a staff to guide. And both are powered by love for those needing his guarding, discipline, and guidance.

The shepherd had a date today. It was with that same little girl the sheriff berated a few weeks before. I think some things are being restored. Time will tell.

And the sheriff? He tried to go along. Apparently he wasn't mortally wounded. That's ok. The shepherd had his rod.

And love covers a multitude of sins.

ct

"Are You Listening To Me?!?"

The other night my wife and I were in the middle of a conversation - actual "big people" talk, something almost unheard of around our house - when Bella had had enough. She was ready to enter the conversation and began the barrage. She leaned in real close to Beth, talking just above a whisper. When that didn't work, she talked at the top of her voice - in fact, you can probably still hear the words echoing around our dining room. Still, Beth and I kept our conversation going, desperate to keep the "big people" talk alive. Bella stood up in her chair, leaned in real close, grabbed Beth by the cheeks, and said, with a gleam in her eye and a grin on her lips, "ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!?"

I know where she got that. That's a phrase that has crossed my lips many times, though none have been as comical as the one that night. But anytime I need to give the kids some sort of training or instruction, I find myself HAVING to ask, "Are you listening to me?" Now Bella wasn't just rattling off a phrase she got out of the book "Ten Phrase Every Parent Should Know and Overuse". She was not offering training or discipline. She wasn't interested in critiques on diction or a vocabulary lesson. She had a greater concern. Her question went beyond whether or not we were listening. In fact, the words of the story really didn't mean much. When you strip away all the layers, all the words, her eyes, her little hands clutching my wife's face - all of it - was easily translated into one simple cry. Notice me.

I have the same desire. I was reminded of that this morning. You see, today is my birthday. I haven't really done much on my birthday for quite sometime. This morning was no different - no big plans, no expectations - or so I told myself. I went to work not expecting anything extravagant - just another day. Then some friends gave me a birthday card. My wife and children called to wish me a happy birthday and all four of the kids sang 'Happy Birthday', with an encore presentation by Bella a little while later. As the birthday wishes poured in from all over, I began to walk a little taller, with more spring in my step. The day just kept getting better and better - I was on top of the world.

Why? Because of all the birthday money? Nope. Because I had been anointed "World's Greatest Dad, Youth Director (thanks Joe), Employee, and All Around Good Guy"? Nope. I had been noticed.

Isn't that the question asked verbally and emotionally by everyone, everywhere? The baby crying in his crib, the toddler's endless questions - are you listening? Your husband's failed attempts to clean the house, your wife's new hairdo - Did you notice? The cashier at the grocery store, the server at the restaurant, the tattooed and pierced teenager. That co-worker who is the life of the party - or the one with her head down, eating by herself in the cafeteria. Are you listening? Do you notice?

I wonder how many stories we have missed because we haven't been listening? I wonder how many opportunities? The world IS listening. False teachers ARE listening. Too many Christians are not. There is an old saying - "They don't care how much you know until they know how much you care." It's simple, but to the point. We talk about world evangelism. We talk about deliberate evangelism. We talk about holy living. We talk about everything under the sun. But we don't listen. We don't notice the very people that we are charged with telling the glorious news of the gospel. We have missed it.

There is no doubt that we must earnestly contend for the faith. There is no doubt that we should strive lawfully. There is no doubt that lines must be drawn. I am not for weak, anemic Christianity that just seeks to fit in. But this is not about fitting in or rubbing shoulders or compromise. It's not about condoning sin or watering down the gospel. It's not about giving the world a religious imitation of itself. It's about actually listening to what people are saying - and what they are not saying. It's about hearing between the lines.

People everywhere are crying out for something, anything to help in their time of need. The world listens and gives them booze, drugs, and fornication. The false teachers notice and give them a watered religion instead of a relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ. We have the answer - we KNOW the ANSWER! His name is Jesus. They need who we've got!

But when they cry out for whatever it is they think they need - are you listening? Do you notice?

Do I?