It’s ugly, hideous, deformed and grotesque. If it had a visible form, it would have dark, fiery eyes with flashes of lightning and a piercing glare. The nose would be sunk in and squished. Lips would have a continuous snarl with fangs protruding out at all angles. The ears would be pointed with tough, scaly skin. Tufts of wiry hair would form around the pointed horns. The smell of living, rotting flesh would be the odor to greet the nose.
This creature is reaction. It’s the evil twin of response. Even if you don’t believe the Bible, you can’t argue that the tongue truly is set on fire by hell itself (James 3:6). As long as we are trapped in this physical body, we are susceptible to an outbreak of this disease. True, Jesus does give us the power to respond in a healthy manner but we have a choice to pick up our rights with vengeance or lay them down in humility.
His caustic humor grates on my nerves. Workday after workday, week after week, month after month, and several years later…it’s still the same. Apparently it’s my fault that I didn’t know something that wasn’t communicated. Apparently I’m not worth getting to know because I’m just going to leave anyway. Apparently I’m going to be one of those picky wives that will make her husband move the furniture around every fifteen days. Really? It’s not funny but hurtful.
And suddenly I become a witch and the other word that rhymes with it. My reaction is uglier than the words said to me. I didn’t dig to find out why he said what he said. I snapped faster than a dried twig on an apple tree. Pop! For some reason, the words stab deep, to a personal level. Why should I care what he thinks as long as I do the job well that God has placed me in? After the hate, the rage, the bitterness, the reaction has simmered, I reflect. Realization dawns that I seek his approval, people-pleasing. I ache to hear the “well done” that never comes, or if it does, it is quickly negated by the next raw comment. And something else manifests and it horrifies me. I am capable of great evil.
The call is not a one time deal. Unfortunately, it is minute by minute and second by second. Take up my cross, follow Him. But it’s so heavy sometimes. My burden is light. Then what am I carrying? But then I understand – it is fortunate to have to rely on Him for every breath. Otherwise, I could do this life on my own. I wouldn’t have need of grace. Neither would you.
The cliché is true. I’m living proof. If you don’t learn a lesson the first, second or fifty-seventh time, God will orchestrate another setting to try and get through to you. Why am I so stubborn? Why do I react with anger so often? I’d like to blame the Hibernian blood in my veins but I can’t. I have a choice to step back and respond to conflict as the Lord would ask me to – seeing it as a chance to learn about myself and the other person. Just like a toddler throwing a tantrum, I’ve gotten comfortable in my dysfunction. It may create hell…but at least I know the streets there. It’s time to move out and navigate in calmer seas. Lord, be my Compass.
★ ★ ★
Here she was again, tapping on the door for a complain fest. I’d heard it before, over and over again. Why did the Thai workers get paid more? She felt discriminated against because she was from Burma. Another gal felt the same and she would hint at it at random times. The immediate offense clouded the other reasons behind the discrepancy – length of service, experience, skills, language ability, legal status and the list could go on.
Her disgruntled stance was justified and I took up the cross to fight with her. In this culture, you are never to go directly to the person you have an issue with. It’s just not done. This would cause you to lose face and would bring shame to the “offender”. In a society where harmony is the number one goal, no one wants to be responsible for rocking the community boat. Some Asian Christian believers struggle with that Bible passage that calls you to go directly to the person you have trouble with (Mt. 18:15). It’s easier to label it as a cultural clause and not a biblical mandate.
And so I was dubbed the mediator, or so I thought. The focus quickly changed. For the bulk of my time on the border, I woke with a sense of purpose – feed street kids, tutor English to eager refugee and migrant munchkins, clean the Safe House, study Burmese, pray for peace, and embrace all through the lens of the Lord. But now I took on the cause of equality. This was unjust. How dare these Westerners start a compassion NGO to be the hands of Christ and pay some workers less?! I skipped that one parable where Jesus says it’s none of my business how much the boss pays because the worker agreed to it (Mt 20:1-16). Hum…
Never mind. This had to be dealt with. I think the horns where starting to form. Several other workers tried to gently point it out but I was set on “saving” face for my gals. After all, they trusted me to make a change for them. Pride rose and grace fell and learning took a backseat.
After going to several leaders with the issue, the director finally got wind of it. I was in trouble. The pointy ears were visible now. I hadn’t taken the time to encourage my sisters to go to the leadership themselves. I justified my meddling as “honoring the culture,” never realizing how much dishonor I was bringing to all involved.
I found myself with a required sabbatical six hours north to Chiang Mai in a lone hotel room. Several days later, the meeting occurred. Thankfully, the director and the accountant had taken up the godly cross of grace and not the one I had recently chosen. They asked me questions, got perspective of the situation first and we dialogued. We learned together. I grew. We put on the glasses of each side. I could see now. They stressed the importance of response over reaction. I found peace.
Some places would just dismiss such a devil but I was blessed to find correction combined with reinstatement.
You never cease to hit me where I am struggling.
God is amazing how he uses us to encourage and lift up and help each other. Thanks again for your stories and insights. Love you girl and always look forward to your emails.
Tom and Robyn – I’m glad this piece encouraged you. I felt slimed recently when I reacted this way. But God’s been teaching me to look for the lesson when I fall flat on my face. Writing it out in a story helps me process. Love you both! Happy New Year!
Angie, at my youngest brother’s home in Madison last week, you and your writing were mentioned by my sister-in-law. She asked me if I was reading you, because she is, thinking you have a real talent. I am amazed that someone took the time to forward you to her but I believe that God is working through you to reach many folks. I love you, kid!
Aunt Carole – I heard Grandpa on the phone Christmas morning wishing his brother a happy 70th 🙂 That’s so great that his wife got wind of these writings! (I wonder who patched her into to them?). It’s truly my hope that God will use the stories. Writing them sure helps me process life. Love you and hope you are staying warm in your frigid state!
That was awesome! The first few lines made me think maybe you were Frank Peretti!
I too am quick to anger. I struggle with people knowing what to do and choosing not to or being to unfocused enough to care. It’s been a life long battle. I can say like you, I have been shown grace, from God through others directed toward me. Love the style and the lesson, thanks.
Thanks, Floyd! I’ll work on the Frank Peretti style! 😉