DEspiteful

Joshua 1:9 - Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go. 

The clock ticks slowly for a seven-year-old.  That old minute hand meanders around, chitchatting with old friends, while twenty-two anxious pairs of eyes will it to go faster go faster go faster.

That's how it was when I was in 2nd grade.  We couldn't wait for 9:15.  Most of us were still learning how to tell time, but Big-Hand-on-the-Three, Little-Hand-on-the-Nine was something we all learned the very first day.  RECESS!

I loved school.  Most kids will say their favorite thing about school is recess, but I loved freshly-sharpened pencils and pink erasers and clean spiral notebooks.  I loved writing my name at the top of my paper and organizing my binders.  School made sense to me.  There were rules and a schedule and structure.  I knew what to expect.  I did my homework.  I got good grades.  I didn't misbehave.  My pigtails were always neat, my shirt was tucked in, and my skirt always went right to my knees.

I didn't understand kids who didn't follow the rules.  Frankly, they irritated me.  Those rule-breakers poked and prodded at my structured, well-organized day until it was full of holes.  I went home on the school bus feeling like I was missing something.

Ty was the worst.  He was loud and obnoxious and unruly.  He ran in the hallway and threw food in the cafeteria.  He never raised his hand and I'm pretty sure his bottom didn't touch his chair the entire year.  When 9:15 rolled around, he became a four-foot-two-inch dust devil in Bugle Boys and KangaROOs, turning the playground into pre-pubescent bedlam.

You see, Ty liked to lift up little girls' skirts.  The teachers thought we were just playing chase, but really it was a much more perilous game.  Ty was a Fox hunting the Geese.  Whether you were wearing Care Bears or Rainbow Brite on your butt, if Ty caught up with you, every second grader knew it.  Because even if they didn't see it, Ty made sure they heard about it.

It was a sunny April morning.  I'd managed to steer clear of Ty all year.  Some of his victims had gotten smart and started wearing shorts underneath their skirts and dresses.  They hung upside-down from the monkey bars, flaunting their freedom.  All the Cabbage Patch Kids were safely hidden behind a layer of cotton.  I started to climb the ladder to the slide, thinking those girls were pretty clever for outfoxing the Fox, when I felt a whoosh of air on my backside.  I didn't even have time to run away. 

"Strawberry Shortcake!  Strawberry Shortcake!"

The rule-follower in me was also somewhat of a tattletale.  But I left her on the slide and took off after Ty.  I think he was a little surprised that I was chasing him, because he didn't go very far.  Determination, anger, and a gaggle of hostile little girls cheered me on.

Ty turned around and smirked.  "Strawberry Shortcake!  Strawberry Shortcake!"

I didn't say a word.  I just did what any self-respecting little girl in Strawberry Shortcake undies would do.

I kicked him in the nuts.

That kick was so full of spite, it must have felt like an iron weight instead of a seven-year-old girl's size 2 foot.  It wasn't just vindication for exposing my undies to the entire playground.  It was months of anger and frustration for this rule-breaking, skirt-lifting, food-throwing boy.  I kicked him so hard, he had to go to the nurse.  And I got a nice long visit with the principal.

Ty learned a lesson that day.  He never lifted the girls' skirts again. 

I'd like to say I learned a valuable lesson, too.  But I didn't.  I was just seven, after all.

Even as I got older and the world began to make more sense, I went on to kick many more people right where it hurt the most. 

Old friends, new friends, family, people I barely knew...

Somewhere along the line, I'd given them the power to hurt me.  Some of them put dents in my structured, organized life.  Others took jackhammers to it.  Buried in the rubble, I felt like I'd lost control. 

Say hello to Spite, Revenge's quiet cousin.  Revenge is blatant and brazen and barefaced.  But Spite is sneaky and sly.  It tiptoes into your heart and sets up camp, jabbing its stakes deep into every corner.  Then it goes to work.  Quiet and relentless, it chips away slowly at your soul, and you don't even know it's there.

Fear gives birth to Spite.  Fear of not measuring up.  Fear of being alone.  Fear of the unknown.  Fear of losing control.  We collect these moments of Fear and stack them up like gifts under a brittle, crumbling tree, and then we start writing Spite You cards.  Spite feels powerful.  It feels like force in the face of fear.

But what if we are giving part of ourselves away along with those Spite You cards?  What if, instead of gaining power, we are really losing our soul?

Jesus had every reason to be spiteful.  But I like to think that He was DEspiteful.  He was born in a stinky stable, despite the fact that He was divine; people laughed at Him and doubted Him despite the fact that He'd performed countless miracles; He was tempted by the devil despite the fact that He created the world; He was beaten and mocked despite the fact that He came to save the very ones who spit on Him.  At any time, He had the power to spite His tormentors.  But when He was in the Garden of Gethsemane, He didn't say, "My Father, I will spite this human blight and save my divine behind."  Despite all He'd suffered already, He said, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.  Yet not as I will, but as You will."  As He hung there with my sins and your sins and the sins of the whole world piling up on his weakening shoulders, He didn't say, "Spite them, Father, for they threatened Me and criticized Me and hurt Me and called Me names."  He said, "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do."  Jesus gave His fear to His Father, and held onto His power to save our disgraceful necks.

People have hurt you.  They've made you feel unworthy and unloved and weak.  They've threatened and criticized, leaving you afraid and discouraged.  They've exposed every fear in your heart and taunted you with them.  "Not good enough!  Not smart enough!  Not rich enough!"  You feel like you've lost huge chunks of yourself.  You are confused. You are angry and scared and broken.

Yet not as I will, but as You will.







You

are

enough. 

You are worthy and loved and strong. 

You are brave and you are inspiring and you are redeemed.

Yet not as I will, but as You will.

You are not spiteful.  Let me say that again.  You are not spiteful.  You didn't choose for your fears to be exposed and criticized and used against you, but you can certainly choose whether or not you give someone the power to turn you into something you're not.  No one has the power to change the life that God has planned for you.  But you give them the power to change how you live that life when you live in fear instead of in faith.

Yet not as I will, but as You will.

The holes inside you may be making you weak, but Jesus is there to make you strong and courageous.  He's calling you to do something BIG, and He knows it won't be easy.  Don't turn your fear and your discouragement into spite for the ones who've hurt you, even if they've lifted your skirt and showed the world your Strawberry Shortcake underwear.  Don't kick them where it hurts because you are scared and broken.  It's your fear.  It's your discouragement.  Own them.  Look them in the eye, and then lay them at the cross.  Be DEspiteful.  Be strong and smile, despite the fact that you're full of holes.  Be courageous and follow the words He's whispering to your heart, despite the fact that you're scared to death.

Yet not as I will, but as You will.

For the LORD your God will be with you. 

Calming your fears. 

Filling your holes. 

Wherever

you

go.