Destination Discipline

I seem to be attracting a lot of these unsightly creatures lately. Candidly, I have been searching the recesses of my irritated soul for the appropriate way to respond. These monumental turds, whose rank behavior echoes the odious squelching sounds from “Bog of Eternal Stench” (of “Labyrinth” fame) require a concise comeback.

King Jerk

While jogging with my dog, Annabelle, this morning, we encountered dense foliage that covered the sidewalk. Since we were not equipped with a machete or jungle-resistant attire, we were forced to step into the street. The time was just shy of 7:00am and there was very little traffic. Still, one of the ickiest creatures known to mankind crawled out of the primordial soup, slithered into his car, and decided to putrefy the neighborhood with his stinky attitude. His highness—King Jerk—honked at me and swerved close enough to us to ensure we knew he meant business. Namely—that he was willing to kill us for invading a tiny portion of his road space. And since my mood was already in the toilet and I was not feeling overly charitable—I called him out for what he was—using hand gestures and loud gesticulations.

Truck Driving Trolls

Even worse, just a few nights ago I encountered a similiar reptile, two redneck-reminiscent, truck-driving Trolls nearly ran over two children in my subdivision. The lizard people honked and swerved, nearly toppling the wee (not older than 7 or 8) ones who were merely trying to enjoy a nice evening bike ride. The insipid behavior of the gutter trolls cannot be excused since we literally have no sidewalks. I was not alone in wondering if their impatience was worth the terrified looks of the little people. A nearby pedestrian and father gently guided his bike-riding son(not older than 5) onto a nearby driveway to avoid collision. Hollering once again proved ineffective. Terrible trolls are cowardly creatures who retreat the moment you raise your voice. They are instantly adept at scurrying back under the bridges from whence they crawled.

Unbearable Bog People

But this behavior is not limited to impatient drivers who would rather murder someone than take five seconds to ensure the safety of their neighbor. The workplace is filled with unbearable bog people who squish and squelch with the best of them. A friend recently told me a story about a stupendously despicable organism who plays the part of boss in real life. This boss makes increasingly unreasonable demands, requires work be completed in an impossible time-period, and then declares the work Wrong. When the employee respectfully asks for feedback (so they can correct mistakes) the boss promises to provide edits but then delegates that work to another unfortunate soul who is so overburdened with his own responsibilities that it never gets done. Even worse, this horrifically smelly smog boss wants instant feedback on its own work. It presents the unfortunate employee with reports and expects an immediate response. If the employee delays, he or she can expect bad-breath-down-the-back behavior—since there is no hope of escape shy of quitting.

Jerk Free Zone

Unfortunately, no segment of society is free from these smelly slugs. Be it the grocery cart cretin who shoves their battering ram into unsuspecting shoppers, or the grody advice-giving-know-it-all, we are constantly inundated with jerks and jerkish behavior. I hereby declare that society needs a “Jerk Free Zone”. We need citizens to be aware they live in community, not on the glorious “Guilt Free Island of Self”. When words are sharper than weapons, we need human beings who are willing to abstain from speaking unless they have something nice to say. We need kind-hearted givers who hug instead of shove. We need holistic hearers who help not harm. We need tender-hearted hand-ups instead of hard-hearted slaps across the face. When every day is precious—and very well may be our last—we need humans who are willing to take lessons in kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. And then we need them to teach others to do the same.

The Age of Road Rage

We are on a collision course with jerks every single day of our lives. Like a bicycle accident, it is not a matter of “if” it is only a matter of “when”. So please consider, if you find yourself reading this and your blood pressure begins to rise at the mere thought of children pressing the button to cross in the crosswalk and how it might impact your commute, well, you just might be a Jerk! And if you see someone moving towards a parking spot and you zip in front of them really fast and steal it, you might be a Jerk. And if your child asks you to make them lunch and you tell them to shut up and go away because you would rather read about what President Trump did today, you might be a Jerk. And if your friend trusts you with a secret and you tell everyone that secret behind her back—you are definitely a Jerk! We wonder why civilization is so uncivilized and I think at least part of the answer is the proliferation of Jerks.

So, until that day when the Mighty Jerk Healer comes and gives us Jerk-free bodies to live in perpetual joy and communion with Him for all eternity, I entreat the dear reader to perpetuate a Jerk-Free zone in your community today. Start with your own home, the street you live on or maybe even your whole neighborhood. Help little old ladies across the street. Bake cookies for the new neighbor moving in. turn down your rap music so it doesn’t vibrate through every house on your street when you drive by. And live in peace and harmony with all of humanity to the best of your ability.

And when you can’t…stay in the Bog of Stench where you belong!

I thought I was safe. My heart was beating with the throbs of shattered hopes when my friend asked me what was wrong. I hesitated for a moment. It takes a lot of energy to expose a wound. There is a certain amount of trust involved. That is because we never really know how someone will respond to our pain. Will they blow us off with a pat solution to our problem? Or will they become uncomfortable and quickly excuse themselves?

But this was a good friend—a praying friend! Surely, they would say the right thing.

After all, I was in church. The sun was shining through the cross-shaped stained-glass window and the crowd was slowly retreating from the cavernous sanctuary. Yes, the service was over, but I was afraid to leave. I didn’t want to go back out into the world. The world can be such a horrible place. I just wanted to stay in that place of safety.

So I took a risk. I exposed my heart. I told of the disappointment and horrors of living in a broken/fallen world. The tears were like battering rams against my eyelids and I was ready for them to fall as I told my friend my troubles in halting sentences. I suppose they may have seemed small in the grand scheme of life, but at that moment they felt like giants lined up on the horizon. I suppose I simply needed a hug, a gesture of peace. Instead, I got a rebuke.

My friend told me I was going about things all wrong. I should have done this; not that. They asked me why my expectations were so high. Didn’t I know better?

I stood there dumbfounded while they admonished me. They went so far as to grab my shoulders and press their words into my body. Then they gave me a label I was not prepared for. They knew I had been hurt, and worse, they said the hurt was my fault.

I was shell shocked. Suddenly I went from being safe to absorbing the devastating impact of a wrecking ball.

Have you ever experienced this? Have you taken a risk and found rebuke? How did you respond? More importantly, did you ever recover?

The halls of friendship are littered with the bleached bones of broken relationships. One reaches a certain age and realizes how many have come and gone over the years. We linger over the memories. We console ourselves with the knowledge that we protected ourselves by walking away. But the pain lingers. Like a ghost or ghoul, they haunt us in our dreams. Sometimes with howls of regret.

The worst kind of scorn is silence.

But that is often how I choose to walk away. I do not say a word. I simply cease to speak. Because words are what caused the problem in the first place. I just want the pain to stop. So, I choose the door marked “Exit” because it’s easier.

My friend doesn’t even know what they did wrong. They think it was all a misunderstanding. But I know the truth.

But if I’m being honest, I know one cannot possibly understand the pain of another. One who has never struggled in marriage cannot understand one who has. Just as one who has never struggled with addiction can know the agonies of one who is addicted.

If I dig deeper, I can at least acknowledge how frustrating it is to watch a hurting friend suffer. My personal experience tells me humans are restless. We hurl “words of wisdom” at them because we don’t want to take the time to participate in their suffering. We don’t want to weep with those who weep. Weeping takes time and we are busy. We are pulled away by our own responsibilities and obligations. So we toss a few thoughts at them and hope they land well. Then we console ourselves at having been a “good friend”. We told them what they needed to hear. Sure, it may have landed wrong, but it was still the right thing to say. Wasn’t it?

We quote bible verses like Proverbs 27:6, “Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.” So there!

Friendship over. No takebacks.

Years ago I had a treasured friend who walked out of my life without a word. We had plans for the weekend and she decided she had something more interesting to do so she bailed on me. I was sorely disappointed and told her she was rude. She never spoke to me again. She evaporated like morning mist. There’s a word for it now: Ghosting. I console myself with the knowledge that this is the true test of friendship. A real friend forgives. So how come I struggle to hold myself to the same standard?

I have judged my church friend through the lens of pain. I don’t trust her anymore. But why do I hold her to such a high standard? She is only human. Haven’t I done the same? Haven’t I offered advice to someone who didn’t want it or wasn’t prepared to receive what I had to say? Wasn’t I too in a hurry or unwilling to take time to weep with those who weep?

I don’t want to think about that. I want to believe I am the hero of this story. I am the perfect friend! But I am guilty too. We all are.

There is a cost when we forgive someone.

We have to set aside our pain and say, “I choose to love you anyway.” Sometimes this feels like a little death. After all, we want justification for the wrong done. We want our friend to “pay a price” for hurting us. We want to exact our “pound of flesh.”

And this is when the gospel makes me really uncomfortable. I hurt God when I sin. Sometimes I am so twisted up in my sin that I can’t see the right side up. And that is why God intervened. He sent his son Jesus to bear the punishment—the full wrath of God—for the sin of world—including my sin. I hurt God and he took my punishment. He became the extracted “pound of flesh” that should have been my penance to give. This humbles me. He tells me that if I love him, I need to also love my neighbor as myself. That means I need to forgive my neighbor. This makes me very uncomfortable.

Grace often feels extremely unnatural. But somehow, we must accept it, and then give it as well.

Jesus said, “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.”

Come, come, whoever you are. Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving. It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vow. A thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come. -Rumi

It takes tremendous courage to forgive someone who has wounded us. Today my simple prayer is, “God, help me to forgive!”