I had a summer job at Stanley Clark School when I was fifteen. My job consisted of some cleaning and maintenance tasks inside the buildings (usually when it was raining) and mowing, oh so much mowing. Working with a bunch of janitors was really a pretty ok gig. One of the jokes that I heard during that summer still cracks me up. It was structured as a conversation from one of the summer camp kids talking to one of us as he walked down the hall past us.
"Hey! Somebody spilled something over there."
"Really? What?"
"Their guts."
Awesome way to tell me that I need a puke kit kid. Still makes me laugh.
Just to let you know, you might need a puke kit after reading this post because I need a place to spill some guts myself. Here goes:
On a recent trip to St. Louis, a new friend prayed for me and said that he believed God was calling me to let go of my earthly identity. I immediately keyed in on the fact that I have no father. I felt God was mandating that I stop claiming the right to inability and inaction due to my lack of fathering. He stated very clearly that He is my father and that I don't have the right to the identity as an impotent failure and His presence.
I must choose.
So, I journaled, I prayed, and I accepted. Or so I thought.
Today, I asked a friend at work for some advice on how to deal with a particularly stubborn client. I made it known that my concerns were more about the buttons that I noticed were being pushed in me than about this client's oppositional defiance. At the heart of my thoughts and feelings was this core of inadequacy and a general lack of having what it takes to meet a lot of life's challenges.
Simply put, I am not good enough.
As we talked, the conversation basically progressed into me sitting on the proverbial couch while he asked me questions leading me further and further into my pain. We ended up at age eleven (ish, maybe ten, maybe twelve).
I began a friendship with a boy that lived across the alley from my backyard when I was nine shortly after my family moved to a new neighborhood. He had two older brothers. One was about a year older than me and the other was another three years older. They were awesome to hang out with when everybody was happy, or if their dad was around. Their dad talked to me more than my own step-dad and was usually open to letting me tag along to their family outings. I found a certain measure of acceptance there that I never found at home. Maybe that explains why I accepted things that I knew were wrong by lack of resistance.
My friend got the shit beat out of him on a regular basis, right in front of me. Dad would be at work M-F until three-thirty or so. Especially during the summer, this left three angry boys home alone to entertain themselves since they were not allowed to leave the house until after dad got home to make sure their chores were done. Dad's favorite measure of discipline when he finally did administer it was to take them down to the basement and use a two by four on them. Needless to say, these boys mimicked what they were shown.
Some days were worse than others. It ranged from a smack in the face or upside the head for a small annoyance to full out beating by kicking him while he was on the ground or bouncing his head off the bathroom sink. Since my friend was the youngest and smallest, he got the worst of it. I never got touched because both of his brothers knew that if they did that their dad would hear from my mom and they would have gotten it good from their dad. So I just sat there, silent.
One day, I finally couldn't take it anymore. I told the middle brother to stop what he was doing as I picked up a roller skate and cocked it back. He got right in my face, breathing like a chained hungry attack dog waiting to be released, "Oh, please do it. I will beat your little Christian boy ass so bad. Come on! Do it!" I dropped the skate and walked away crying and distraught. I heard my friend screaming from inside the house as I walked away that day. I knew that his beatings were worse when no one else was around. I tried to tell a neighboring parent. They just acknowledged that they knew it went on. I talked to their dad that night and he told me that a lot of times my friend did things to provoke his brothers. Yeah like touch their new clothes with dirty hands on accident. He totally deserved to have his head kicked for that one.
But at least I was safe. So I walked away, an ashamed coward. How many days I have looked back on this moment with regret. Why didn't I at least just get my ass beat with my friend so that he wasn't alone?
Yep, that's me, a coward. Not only am I afraid of just about everything (who isn't afraid of stuff?), but I run from my fears, constantly. I have no courage.
The lack of fear does not make a man brave, but courage (to be afraid and do it anyway because it is right) in the face of fear, now that is manly. Me, not so much. This is how I view myself. This is who I think I am. This is who God calls me to surrender. It's harder than it sounds.
As our conversation went on this morning, my friend pointed out that no eleven year old could be expected to make that choice and that I did do what I could. I recognize this as true, but the damage of not knowing this has already been done over the last twenty years.
Probably what was most helpful from our conversation was when my friend shared some experiences about fathering his son. He talked about the first time he ever watched his son play in a sand box. My friend never got to do that as a child. His child hood was really messed up. He said he got in the sand box with his son and just cried. He shared that it is possible to receive something for the first time and still be able to pass it on to a son at the same time. I think this eased my fears about all the things that I lack more than anything else.
So maybe I'm not as cowardly as I thought. Maybe I really am an eagle and not a chicken, but I've spent so many years scratching around the chicken coop that I don't have a clue how to soar on thermal updrafts. God teach me to soar. Without You I am screwed. Please call out of me something that I don't think exists and be glorified by it.
