Bully Me

Carter was late.

Natasha and I had been sitting in the van on the street behind the school with the air conditioning full blast for ten minutes. I was hot. And I was starting to get angry. Had he stopped to play on the playground? Was he distracted by some friends Where was he?

 As I got out of the car to look for him, I saw him coming down the sidewalk, the top of his giant backpack bobbing along behind his blond head. "Carter, where have you been?" I began, and then I stopped. He was crying.

"What happened?" I asked, bending down to look him in the eyes.

"There was a bully," Carter explained, "He grabbed me and squeezed me really tightly. Then he threw me down and put sand down the back of my shirt."

Then Carter said, "One minute we were playing together and the next he was grabbing me. I thought he was my friend."

I put my arm around Carter and walked him to the car. Sometimes bullies come from unexpected places, I explained.

I could relate to Carter's feelings. It had been a rough day at work. During a meeting, several things had happened to make me feel insecure about my abilities. Then the negative self-talk began, "I can't do this. I don't know as much as they do. I shouldn't speak up. I'll just say something dumb. I have nothing to contribute."

Instead of banishing these thoughts immediately, I invited them in like old friends. Sit down and stay awhile. Would you like something to drink? A snack, perhaps?

Like Carter's friend turned bully, I become my own worst enemy. A frienemy.

Last fall my neighbor called me and told me that my son Cory and her son had been bullied at school by a kid who had been calling them names. "Did Cory tell you what happened?" No, he hadn't. He had come home and marched into the kitchen to get a snack just like every other day. I went to his room to find out what had happened. I'll never forget what he said, "Mom, what that kid said didn't hurt me. His words had no power over me. You can't be bullied unless you give someone power to hurt you."

Yet I hurt myself every day by allowing harmful lies to ramble around in my head. I can't blame it on other people. No one can make me feel insecure unless I let them. In a weird way, I'm bullying myself.

But then a different thought occurs to me.  When I believed in Jesus, God gave me the Holy Spirit. The Bible says that I am the temple, the dwelling place, of God. The God of the universe trusts me enough to come and live inside of me. Ephesians 1 says that when I believed in Jesus, God gave me the Holy Spirit as a seal that guarantees that I belong to God and that someday I will inherit eternal life. The Spirit marks me as his precious child. The God of the universe allows me to carry around his Spirit every day. He didn't wait to see if I could perform well enough. There wasn't a trial run to see if I could make the cut. He just lavished himself on me. God believes in me. He trusts me.

I know that I must believe in God, but rarely do I consider that God believes in me.

As I mediate on this, my insecurities start to melt away.  I want to pipe up in the meeting at work and say, "Excuse me, but the God of the universe is living inside of me right now." I can just imagine the looks I would get from the president of the company. Maybe I can't say it aloud, but I can say it to myself. I can slam the door when the negative thoughts come to call. I can turn the key in the lock and then sit down with my soulmate, the Holy Spirit, for an encouraging chat. I can remember that my security comes from Christ and not from my ability to perform as an employee, a mother, a wife, or even as a Christian.

It's time I instituted a zero-tolerance policy for bullies. And that includes myself.

My Grandpa's Legacy

Last week my 87-year-old grandfather passed away. The family asked me to share some memories about Grandpa at his funeral. As I reflected on his life, I was amazed at his faithfulness. Grandpa was never a flashy guy. He was an Iowa farmer, like his parents before him. He knew what he believed and he lived by his convictions. I don't think I really appreciated him fully until I took the time to think about his life last week. Here's what I wrote for the funeral. . .

I Corinthians 13: 4-8 says 

4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8Love never fails.

As I reflected on the life of Grandpa Allyn, this passage came to mind. I was struck by the consistency of what loves does and doesn’t do, the list of always and nevers. It was with this same kind of consistency that Grandpa Allyn lived his life. Grandpa really was pretty uncomplicated. He lived his life by simple truths of the Word of God. So in the spirit of I Corinthians 13, we like to share some of the always and nevers of Grandpa Allyn’s life.

Grandpa always began his day by having devotions with Grandma around the breakfast table.

Grandpa never failed to do the chores on the farm, come rain or shine.

Grandpa always spent quality time with his grandchildren, taking us to the fish-hatchery, the Strawberry Point zoo, the Dairy Queen, or just on a Sunday afternoon drive through Manchester.

Grandpa never let us win at Uno.

Grandpa was always at church whenever the doors were open.

Grandpa never missed his afternoon nap in HIS chair in the front room of the old farmhouse.

Grandpa always let us think we were helping him out on the farm.

Grandpa never let the grandkids win at croquet.

Grandpa always prayed for his family faithfully.

Grandpa never let us win at ping-pong.

Grandpa always played golf everyday after he retired.

Grandpa never let us win at caroms.

Grandpa always said “All donations are appreciated” when we accidentally shot his caroms into the pocket.

Grandpa never knew a stranger. He could strike up a conversation with anyone, in any place, at any time.

His family was always amazed and sometimes embarrassed by this. . .

Grandpa never missed the opportunity to serve the Lord by helping those in need by giving people rides to church.

Grandpa always believed that his family was just as passionate about genealogy as he was.

Grandpa never cussed when he was teaching us how to drive the tractor.

At Christmas, Grandpa always gave us egg cartons of golf balls he had collected when he played golf.

Grandpa never failed to ask us questions: “What’s the weather like?” “Is there snow on the ground?” “Did you shoot a deer yet?” “Didn’t I do good?"

Grandpa always held his grandkids on his knee and sang his lyrically-challenged, yet oddly comforting Boody-Boodle song when we were grandkids.

Grandpa always treated everyone the same no matter how much money they had.

Grandpa always tried to live his life as an example of Christ for all of us to mirror.

Grandpa always put his trust in Christ alone as his Savior and thanked God every day for his gift of salvation.

Thanks, Grandpa for always being patient and kind, for not being self-seeking or easily angered, for not keeping record of our wrongs. Thank you, Grandpa, for never delighting in evil but rejoicing in the truth. You always tried to protect, to trust, and to persevere.

Grandpa, we love you and we know you are celebrating with your Savior in heaven.