A Trip to the Hardware Store

My Grandma  Filson was a study in contrasts over my life.  First she was fun in a way that provided the fun; she made the food, she invited people over to play cards, and she laughed a lot.  She gave and gave and gave; she volunteered at the hospital and she made clothes for me.  She had two sons, my dad and my uncle.  My uncle was 13 years younger than my dad.  She wanted more children, but my uncle was really a miracle and she was grateful for that.  I loved going to their house.  It was warm and comfy and somewhere I always felt safe.


But when I was eleven, my dad was killed in a car accident.  That changed Grandma forever.  She told me once, many years later when I was an adult, "I'll never forgive him for that."  She was angry and hurt and felt all the things that a mother feels at the loss of a child.  She became bitter.  I don't think she ever did forgive my dad for dying.


She was bitter until the very end of her life.  She didn't want to be, but she couldn't find a way out of it.  From all appearances, she seemed to be a "Christian" woman.  But she had no real relationship with Christ.  She went for 10 years not speaking to her youngest sister before they resolved their differences.  She was critical of others.  That wonderful woman who taught my own mother to cook and drew my mother in as a daughter was still there, but buried.  I focused my attention on that hidden woman when I saw her -- and that was easy because with me, that loving side came out.  But on the outside with the regular world she was filled with sorrow and a hardness that only comes from bitterness.  


I am a lot like my Grandmother.  I didn't get her green thumb or her ability to cook, but I did get her love for being a wife and mom.  My extended family thinks I'm a lot like her, and indeed I am, in both the good ways, and to my own shame, in the bad ways.  In the past months I have been deeply, deeply wounded and tried to survive.  In that survival, I've inadvertently let the bitterness creep in.  


It's easy to do, and here's why:  the plain old truth of the situation is a bitter thing, and when looking it right in the face, it becomes a stand-off for awhile.  Over time, we tend to just give in, weary of the fight against it.  We don't even need to justify our feelings of anger and hurt.  We back away and let that bitterness be our shield.  We hide.  We stay hurt.  We nurse our wounds and never get better.  We never even peek out behind that protective shield of bitterness, afraid to get hurt again.


Sadly, even tragically, this becomes a wall not just between us and those who've hurt us.  It blocks us from God.  We say we forgive, but do we really?  Luke 6 says this:



^31-34"Here is a simple rule of thumb for behavior: Ask yourself what you want people to do for you; then grab the initiative and do it for them! If you only love the lovable, do you expect a pat on the back? Run-of-the-mill sinners do that. If you only help those who help you, do you expect a medal? Garden-variety sinners do that. If you only give for what you hope to get out of it, do you think that's charity? The stingiest of pawnbrokers does that.
 ^35-36"I tell you, love your enemies. Help and give without expecting a return. You'll never—I promise—regret it. Live out this God-created identity the way our Father lives toward us, generously and graciously, even when we're at our worst. Our Father is kind; you be kind.


I don't expect a medal -- I just want to be able to do it!  But it costs me dearly, and sometimes I cannot pay.  Fortunately, the amazing grace of Jesus steps in and does it for me.  I have been forgiven.  God removed the wall between me and Him because that's just who He is.  How can I do any less if I expect to be anything like Him?


Deep breaths, smiling face, and willing heart.  Put on the clothing of Christ.  I have to do it even when I don't feel like doing it, even when I am perfectly justified in not doing it because the wound is so deep.  


This isn't about me being right, or justice, or even truth.  It's about God reaching me.  The Berlin wall has got nothing on me, believe me.  God is right there, tearing it down, brick by brick, handing me a hammer with an expectant look on His loving face.   I wish Grandma were here so I could hand her a hammer, too.  If you need one, I've heard God has a supply that would rival Home Depot.


xoxoxox