My Two worst moments
I spent part of my teenage years at odds with my parents, especially my father. I suppose this phenomenon is relatively common as puberty and early adulthood dawn on us, and we are usually at odds with ourselves, which translates into conflict with authorities.
This problematic season left me with two of the worst memories of my life.
“You’re not the boss of me,” was an unspoken proclamation; my mind shouted at mom and dad a hundred times, and I was dead set on proving it. If mom said black, I retorted, white, and if dad told me to go, I was determined to stay. I was more well-informed than either of those old fogeys on nearly any subject. Why couldn’t they figure that out?
One day my mother wanted me to go to the grocery store with her, probably to help carry the groceries to the car. At that moment, food shopping was not on my agenda since I was engaged in more critical matters like listening to Alice Cooper sing Schools Out for the Summer at 110 decibels and shaking the entire house from fifteen-inch woofers.
A battle of the wills ensued, which nearly ended in an altercation. However, I suddenly realized that I had grown large enough to take my mother on and probably win, but I would never hit my mom for two reasons. First, no matter how belligerent and disobedient I became, I remembered well the only commandment with a promise. “Honor your father and mother so it may go well with you.” Even I had limits to my hypocrisy. Secondly, if I ever laid a hand on my mother, my father would see to it that I never again saw the light of day. He maintained a zero-tolerance policy when it came to showing respect for his wife.
In the end, I decided to yell, “I hate you; I hate you; I hate you,” at the top of my lungs. I can still hardly believe those words came out of my filthy little mouth. I don’t remember if I accompanied mom to the store, but I’ll never forget those hurtful and untrue utterances. I don’t believe my sweet, patient mother ever told my father of our skirmish, but those words must have cut deep.
My second, equally stupid near altercation came with my father while we were on vacation at our lake cottage. I don’t even remember what precipitated the argument; it could have been almost any ill-perceived infraction by my father. We stood in our home's kitchen and living room, tempers in full bloom, yelling at one another, my belligerence on full display. The argument ensued for what seemed like an eternity until dad finally had enough. He got up into my long-hair draped head and bright red face and proceeded to call me out. “We’re going outside to settle this once and for all, you little XOXOXOXOX!” When necessary, dad was a master of words I’d never heard. I was astounded! Was he actually going to fight me? Did he really think he could win? My size had eclipsed him a year or so ago, and I at least thought I could do some damage.
Then, once again, that annoying commandment came to mind. “Honor your father and mother.” What I was doing was in no manner following that imperative, but again, even I had my limits. No way on God’s green earth I would ever strike my father. Plus, mom probably couldn’t physically take me, but she knew where dad kept his shotgun. I stood down and never allowed my foolish, immature glands to go that far with the old man again.
My folks must have possessed exceptional forgivers and even forgetters because none of us ever spoke of either incident again. But my insolence will forever be etched in my memory banks.
I read a thought-provoking story about these matters.
“A long time ago, there was a boy. He was smart, talented and handsome. However, he was very selfish and his temper was so difficult, that nobody wanted to be friends with him. Often he got angry and said various hurtful things to people around him.
The boy‘s parents very concerned about his bad temper. They considered what they could do and one day the father had an idea. He called his son and gave him a hammer and a bag of nails. The father said: „Every time you get angry, take a nail and drive into that old fence as hard as you can.”
The fence was very tough and the hammer was heavy, nevertheless the boy was so furious that during the very first day he has driven 37 nails.
Day after day, week after week, the number of nails was gradually decreasing. After some time, the boy started to understand that holding his temper is easier than driving nails into the fence.
One day the boy didn‘t need hammer and nails anymore as he learned to hold his temper perfectly. So he came to his father and told about his achievement. “Now every time, when you hold your temper all day long, pull out one nail.”
Much time has passed. At last the boy could be proud of himself as all the nails were gone. When he came to his father and told about this, he offered to come and take a careful look at the fence. „You did a good job, my son, but pay your attention to the holes that left from the nails. The fence will never be the same. The same happens when your say hurtful things to people, as your words leave scars in their hearts like those holes in the fence.”
Some people look back on their lives and determine, “I have no regrets for all of my actions brought me to where I am presently.” I understand the wisdom of the statement, but I somewhat disagree. I regret many hurtful things I’ve done and said and thought. Those selfish photos of my life are not the person I want to be.
However, I do not choose to live in those feelings. Unfortunately, we sinners must dwell in the murky waters of what we want to be and what we are. Even the Apostle Paul wrestled with this conundrum, and he describes the feelings in Romans Seven.
“14 So the trouble is not with the law, for it is spiritual and good. The trouble is with me, for I am all too human, a slave to sin. 15 I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate. 16 But if I know that what I am doing is wrong, this shows that I agree that the law is good. 17 So I am not the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.
18 And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. 19 I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. 20 But if I do what I don’t want to do, I am not really the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.
21 I have discovered this principle of life—that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. 22 I love God’s law with all my heart. 23 But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me. 24 Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? 25 Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord. So you see how it is: In my mind I really want to obey God’s law, but because of my sinful nature I am a slave to sin.” (Romans 7:14-25)
Gloriously the wise follower of Jesus did not end his train of thought there. For Romans 8:1-2, he continues:
1So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus. 2, And because you belong to him, the power of the life-giving Spirit has freed you from the power of sin that leads to death. (Romans 8:1-2)
There you have it; Jesus also has a good forgiver and forgetter. Then He even throws in a measure of His Spirit to help us get over our selfish little selves. Not a bad deal.
Jesus said that out of the abundance of a person’s heart, they speak. We all need a heart check-up often lest we blurt painful proclamations that leave permanent holes. But the Lord helps us to live a life not controlled by regret and we too can learn to forgive.
Live Inspired!
Don Mark
