I want to tell you about a small boy I heard about that has a fascinating story. When he was much younger in years he was typical kid; wide-eyed with imagination galore.
His family didn't have any money but that didn't stop him from building imaginary riding toys; tractors and cars and even trucks that....well they didn't really move about because they had no wheels. Yet, he had such a strong imagination his newly formed vehicles (from scrap lumber) took him up and down country lanes.
Ah, you should have seen when he put it into third how the dust flew! Occasionally, he would venture out onto the daring highway; always only in his mind of course. And, my goodness, the neighbors who saw him actually driving down the highway on his tractor at age 7....well they were all smiles!
The little boy's mom was a good woman. She was very outgoing and intricately aware of the needs of others. She had a huge heart for people.
She did laundry by an electric ringer-washer on the back porch. The water came from the well on that same porch. There were no bathrooms. The outhouse was at the far end of the chicken house.
The boy's dad was strong. He was a very hard working farmer. His arms looked especially strong as he donned his summer farmer's tan. All of the neighbors thought he was the best. His kids agreed. Who wouldn't want to be strong and popular like him. He made little money; but he was a hard worker to see there was food on the table.
However, there was a problem behind closed doors. The dad had a significant problem with extreme anger. The mom and kids never knew what would set him off. Something always seemed to cause major upset. Neighbors most likely never guessed; but surely some of the relatives had a clue.
The family walked on eggshells day in and day out year in and year out. Trouble brewed and if there wasn't any all knew the clock was ticking.
The kids were well-disciplined yet the punishment was often conveyed in rage. Spankings (which were a trademark of the home) turned into uncontrollable whippings that killed the others as they had to listen to the screams and wails from the other room. It was unforgettable torture to either receive the poundings or overhear.
The kids survived. They eventually grew up to be adults. I suppose in their later years they carried remarkable baggage of guilt, regret, and severe confusion. Yet, they did not waste their distresses because from the pain grew understanding of their adult friends and neighbors who have also experienced a history of mistreatment and abuse.
What I would like you to gain from this story is that much mercy is needed for our relatives, colleagues, and friends. There are times when their behaviors are both puzzling and just simply out of line. But if we could just pause a moment to look into their possible erratic past, maybe we might find reason to pull alongside rather than push back.
Upheaval still lives. Jesus clearly understood injury, pain, and abuse. When you experience it in the church, much as the little boy did, try to remember such mistreatment is supposed to be ours so that those who assail may find healing themselves....for they, too, have been terribly wounded...I Peter 2:21-25.
It could be---no I think it is true---the ordinary people on our streets are trying their best to use their tears of private as telescopes to help the wounded public....just hoping to cheer someone on.
We can do it. We should do it. And we will do it.
Bless those who curse you for they may have been badly hurt in their earlier years as well. Together we, as Jesus, will use our wounds to save others.
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