Category: Blog

 I still remember the shame, frustration, anger, and sadness that overwhelmed my toddler sized heart when I looked at the shattered Santa on the unbalanced sidewalk and felt the sharp pain of skinned hands and knees.

I must have been about four.  I spent the day playing imaginary games of detective with my cousin in an old RV in my grandfather’s driveway.  My dad had stayed behind to keep an eye on us while my mother, aunt, and grandfather spent the afternoon antiquing.  As the car rolled into the driveway, I waved with excitement, and Grandpa got out of the driver seat slowly, staring me down with his signature gleam in his eye.  I knew instantly what that look meant; he had purchased me a present.  With a slow stroll to the trunk, he reached inside a box and handed me a porcelain Santa Claus piggy bank.  He said, “I saw this in a glass case at the antique store, and it had your name on it, Carla.”

Filled with elation, I turned and dashed up the sidewalk to show daddy.  Squeals of glee quickly turned to screams of pain and anger.  After just a few steps, I tripped over the sidewalk, which was slightly raised on one side.  Santa took a ride through the sky alright, and gravity brought him down with a crash.

I was devastated, and I quickly turned to grandpa to hear him calmly shrug, “Well, that didn’t last long.”  I was sobbing because my knees hurt, but also because I didn’t even get to have this precious gift for one minute before it was ruined.  I distinctly remember not getting met with chastisement, which was what I anticipated for breaking a present within seconds.

Instead, Mom scooped me up, sat me on the steps, gray and white with cracked paint.  She looked me in the eye, hugged me, and whispered, “I will take care of this.  It’s okay.”  At age four, I had no idea what that meant, but I trusted Mom.  If she said she would take care of it, she would.  In the following days back in my ranch style childhood home, I watched her meticulously work on this broken Santa.  She had old newspaper copies of the Spencer, IN, Evening World, spread out on the dining room table.  With super glue she rebuilt that porcelain Santa piece by piece.  She would glue one section at a time, let it dry, and add some more the next day.

I am sure this process took hours and hours.  When you’re little you don’t understand the significance of such sacrifices, but she was a working mom, with a full time teaching job, a sixteen acre property to maintain, and a house to run.  She could have done more important things with her time.

But, at age 39 I get this super glued Santa bank out of storage every year, and it’s always the same act—I rub my hands over the cracks, hold it close to my heart, and whisper prayers of gratitude for this display of love.  She passed away just two years later, and I like to imagine her at that table, eyes squinting as she holds glass pieces with tweezers, and glues ever so carefully. I realize what a sacrifice this piecing together was now that I am a busy, working mom.  I understand the depth of grace I was shown, and I am overwhelmed at the lesson she showed me. 

Maybe this Christmas season you’re overwhelmed at the brokenness around you.  Maybe family relationships are not what you hoped and dreamed they would be.  But, I know the cure for brokenness in this shattered world—love, sacrifice, selflessness, and mercy—just like momma showed me.  Maybe you have a circumstance that can only be healed with time and carefully placing broken pieces back in place.  This is the meaning of Christmas after all.  Christ left His perfect home, to dwell among us and bring healing to our broken world and to us.

The age old adage, “Never judge a book by its cover” has always been practiced by me, the English teacher, in a literal sense.  Jane Eyre, Heart of Darkness, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and so many other classics have such boring covers, but between the binding beautiful, rich life lessons and stories unfold.  In practical life, however, unfair judgment is sown daily. Many people I encounter misunderstand my assertiveness and awkwardness and never truly see my heart.  Much of this is my fault because I carry too much baggage I should have left in the luggage terminal years ago.

As the Lord moves me to new places and unfolds fresh vision, the importance of “traveling light” is growing more and more clear.  I lay a bit of the past down each day, and I sometimes wish individuals from the past could see the changes and encounter me with fresh eyes.  But, I can’t look into the past because I am not going that direction.

One of the most life changing lessons the Lord allowed me to learn didn’t come from the Bible or a pulpit, but the ballpark.  For me, what seemed like an ordinary hot evening for the final regular season game became a night that forever changed how I interact with people. I climbed the rickety bleachers to the top row, the only row with back support, coming to show support for my son. I certainly did not expect the team to win by any means.  Facing the best team in the league and our team showing obvious end of the season fatigue, the outcome did not look promising. The prospect of success grew more slim when start time was approaching, and our star player was still missing in action. Just minutes before play, his mom whipped her glistening mom mobile into the gravel lot and handed the coaches the team’s catcher’s equipment. She seemed unapologetic when she informed them her son would not be showing up for his team that day.  

I was angry.  My competitive spirit surged with disgust and ugly thoughts like, “She’s a coddler, allowing her son not to come, just because he hates losing.  Doesn’t she know we need him! How selfish!” This young man is an amazing athlete, and no other boy on the team was skilled at the catcher’s position.  The critical judgment was seething in my head, certain this momma had grown weary of consoling her son after several losses in a row, and thus was sparing him from sure defeat.  

My pride was boiling inside the cauldron of my unchecked thoughts.  Thankfully, so so thankfully, I didn’t spew that venom to any other ball parents, but kept my ugliness to myself.  

Sure enough, Isaiah’s team lost, and not surprisingly the world spun freely on its axis the next day.

The first game of tournament came, and our star catcher was early, excited to contribute and hopefully extend the season a bit longer.  The tired and weary momma of this precious boy climbed the bleachers to the top and whispered an apology for her child’s absence. She tearfully shared that her husband had abruptly moved out the afternoon of the last game.  Little League is of little importance to a son and momma who are blindsided and trying to make sense of a world that had just been shattered.

Instantly, I was overcome with guilt and grief.  I stomped noisily to the bottom bleacher slat; I had to get away, had to collect myself.  The memories of all the times I have been mislabeled, misunderstood, and unfairly judged washed over me, taking away breath. Once when Josie was a toddler, she became obsessed with pajamas, and put on seven different pairs of pajamas, just minutes before Wednesday evening church.  During that season of life she and I said hello to each day at 4:30 a.m., she was dropped at sitter’s by 5:30, so I could begin an hour commute from hometown in central time zone to my school in the eastern. Weekends were filled with long treks to see dad in a prison camp. By Wednesday night, I was already exhausted, and wrestling a toddler out of seven layers of clothes was not an endeavor I was willing to tackle, though if I did tackle that child, she would have had a soft cushion.  She proudly pranced into church looking like a princess linebacker; people stared. I wanted to explain, but didn’t have the energy. I was trying to survive, and the important thing was we were present. We made it to church. We needed compassion and empathy, not judgment.

How dare I do the same to someone else, as if I know the motives or the heart of another!  “…for God sees not as a man sees, for man looks at outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16: 7 NIV).   Confessing my pride and ignorant judgment to the Potter, the one who knows my every ugly thought, my Maker graciously choose to stop the Potter’s wheel, and start anew, reforming and perfecting the marred clay that I was.  

I can’t recall the winner of that game; nor can I remember if my son hit well or played good defense.  But, that eureka moment of conviction has forever changed the way I see people. Since those bleachers creaked with the weight of my sinful heart, I am a better friend, better teacher, better person  

As a woman, teacher, and Christian this teachable moment showed me the importance of giving others the benefit of the doubt and seeing the best in all be people.  Christ says in John 13:35, “Everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another…”. Ugly hearts masked by kind works lack the authenticity God wants from us. Parents who don’t show up for parent/teacher conferences—doesn’t mean they don’t care; maybe they’re working second shift to provide. Unexpected absences, weird outfits, and too many other circumstances to name, nearly always have a worthy explanation—explanations that are not my business.  

MANY other cringe-worthy moments have occurred, and I have felt the glares and the bewildered looks, but at the end of the day, I’m doing the best I can.   The catcher’s mom was too. Aren’t most people? We must start seeing that, especially in the church. We must stop worrying about what others are doing, what they’re wearing, or what their motives are. Drop the judgmental heart and, “Therefore as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience” (Colossians 3: 12 NIV).  Let’s all love better and see the best, as Christ intended for His people.

Epilogue-  Since that day, I have prayed hard for the catcher’s family.  Mom and dad reunited, and glory to God, they just welcomed a precious daughter into the family.  God’s business is redemption!

The Navajo Indians thrived in a hot desert climate with piercing sun and little water.  They learned to survive in harsh elements by slicing through the thick walls of Saguaro Cacti and drinking the water and life-giving nutrients stored inside.  The Saguaro are towering cacti that have arms and loom over the desert landscape in southern New Mexico and Arizona. They are picturesque and unique, and they were a treasure to the Navajo.  

I can relate to the Saguaro because loving me is like hugging a cactus.  I’m not proud of that truth, but as an English teacher and a writer, I promise the simile is apt. Finding a way to maneuver around the barbs is not an easy task, but if one does, he or she is met with unwavering loyalty.  Similarly, the inside of that cactus is full of refreshing water, spirit-filling nutrients necessary to navigate this harsh world, so valiant efforts are met with reward.

The reality that I’m  “prickly” never occurred to me until my husband once told me that loving me is really hard, and though the “truth bomb” was totally accurate during the season in which it was spoken, it still stung.  I desperately wanted to be fun-loving, joy filled, and happy, but I wasn’t. I could so relate to Paul’s confession in Romans 7:15, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do” (New International Version).  

My guarded heart had a fortress around it, a thick, protective cactus wall, and I kept people away by piercing barbs.  “Keeping it real” became my spiritual gift. Positivity and optimism annoyed me, and my husband, Micah, is definitely a “cup half full”kind of guy, which consistently caused isolation and strife between us.  

I was lonely and hurting, which made me “prickly” and hard to love, but yet I shoved away people who tried to get through my thick cactus walls.  This self-defeating cycle continued for years, damaging friendships and harming my marriage. Our relationship had been in much worse shape before though; in fact, betrayal from the first years of our union caused me to build my defensive walls in the first place.

Forced to journey alone through some extremely tough times, I became prideful, wore independence like a badge of honor, and boasted about how well I managed on my own.  The reality was that I was parched, dry, and dying from weariness.

Like the Navajo, Micah mastered the secret to navigating the desert season in our marriage—he had to surrender to the barbs, and pierce through that thick wall to get to “the good stuff.”  Such a maneuver is not a pain free process; bandages became a normal accessory. He got tired of the cycle of “hurting people hurt other people,” so with the Lord’s leading he made it his mission to keep loving me well, no matter how many times he was jabbed.  Paul instructs in his letter to the Ephesians 5: 35-26,, “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her…(NIV)”

I would love to say it was relatively painless for him, but the process took years. Random and CONSISTENT acts of love and service finally disintegrated my cactus wall.  It took countless acts of service and thoughtful actions to regain my trust and restore our relationship. Eventually after obvious repentance and counseling for each of us, Micah was able enjoy the sustenance that comes from braving the barbs to penetrate the thick protective layer I’d formed around my soul.  Love eventually broke through because Christ heals and makes all things new.

If your relationship seems hopeless today, please know that LOVE WINS.  If you’re hurting and broken, the Lord, “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” Psalms 147: 3.  We encounter hurting people daily, and they need compassion and tenderness, instead of recoiling and isolation. Always keep trying to love wounded people well. Eventually, the piercing barbs break off as those loving arms continue to wrap around despite the risk of getting jabbed.  That is love. It’s risky and painful, but always worth it. If you really want to change the world, hug a cactus, even when it makes you bleed a little.

As I journey through life, marriage, and parenting, I am becoming softer and less and less “bristley.” Of course some days I fail and fling needles like a porcupine in distress, but radical love transformed my soul.  I so wish others from my past could see the “barbless” me—the one who hugs, who loves freely, who doesn’t cause others to recoil. But, I can’t keep looking in the past; I’m not going in that direction. Now I have to carry the lesson forward and love well, even when it hurts.  I have my band aids ready.