April showers bring May flowers
In the sixth grade I lived two blocks from my school. If I went through the front door, it was three and a half blocks, so typically I went out the backdoor, cut through the alley, and through our backyard neighbor's driveway/parking lot. *side: He was an orthodontist, built a mansion with an orthodontic practice in the lower half. He's having a difficult time selling the house/practice.* When the weather was tolerable, older kids, probably eighth graders, would crowd into a corner behind his house in the alley to smoke. If it was cold, they'd hang in a tight group to block the wind. I never thought much of it; actually, my siblings and I would balk at them in disdain from our kitchen window, generally passing by with an air of self-righteousness. It was rare for me to be alone in the exchange because Jon, my older brother, attended the school across from mine so I always timed my departure to coincide with his.
In the sixth grade I had relatively short frizzy red hair that may have been construed in current fashion circles as a mullet. I wore glasses. They weren't the dark brown trendy 80s-esque frames that everyone esle wore; mine were blue. And not blue everywhere, but blue in clear plastic that faded in and out. The arms, the sides of the glasses, swooped down in perfect grandma fashion on each side. My favorite thing to wear with my blue glasses, was a blue and white striped wide-necked sweater, and a shell necklace that my friend Melissa brought me from Hawaii. Not a pretty white choker that is still fashionable, a long string of seashells that "chinked" everytime I moved. As a sixth grader, I was pretty hot.
It was cold one morning when I rolled out of bed at ten minutes to eight; everyone else was rushing around to get to where they were going. By the time I had dressed and brushed my teeth, which was really all I did to get ready for school, the house was nearly empty and I was forced to make the trek by myself. Scarffing my breakfast, I prayed that the smokers wouldn't be in the alley as I pulled back a corner of the curtain on the back door and peeked through the window. To my dismay there was a raucous swarm of jean-jacket clad teenagers puffing away. Of course I considered going out the front door and walking the extra two blocks to avoid them completely, but I knew I'd be late for school. So I had a little pep talk with myself about how I was eleven now and needed to be tougher and push past my silly fears of strangers and walking places by myself. Taking a deep breath, I put on my bravest face and strode through the backdoor and down the sidewalk to the gate. My heart was racing, but my face was stone cold and I was fearless... until I caught the attention of the oldest member of the crowd.
Remember when you were in school and there was always a guy hanging around the parking lot, sometimes he'd show up at recess and you thought he was so cool? He must've been at least 19 because he had a 10-speed and a cigarrette behind his ear. He usually wore sunglasses, an REO Speedwagon t-shirt, and only the cool kids knew his name...? You know the guy. That was the guy in the alley that day that interrupted the conversation of the pack to say, "Hey there, pretty thing," and smile an invitational smile.
Alarms went off in my head; I was panic-strickened. I was a fearful child, for whatever reason, but this was the first I had experienced immanent danger by myself.
I hurried on to the safety of the orthodontist's parking lot hoping there would be people with early appointments on the other side of that gate. Trying not to "run scared" I scurried as fast as I could to school and then cried all day. My teacher was so wise in her dealings with me. I was not only fearful, but often very emotional as well, so she drew the attention away from my desk by the window and went right on teaching like everything was fine while I put my head on the desk and cried.
The time frame is sketchy here because everything sat in my memory like the present; it may have been the same month weeks prior when a fellow 6th grader was raped on school grounds by a high boy who played to her general innocence and coerced her into the auditorium where he sexually assaulted an eleven-year-old girl. Someone I saw everyday at school was assaulted in a place I was forced to go everyday. And maybe it was two or three weeks before that when our there was a telephone call during Sunday morning worship with a request to pray for another church who had, minutes before, been accosted by a man toting a duffel bag full of guns and ammunition who randomly opened fire on the congregation. Both events troubled me deeply.
What changed me in those consecutive events was the reality that tragedy is no respector of persons and people are not generally good. That's a tough pill to swallow for a child. I didn't want to go to school because I was afraid that I wouldn't be so lucky the next time I ran into the drop-out that smoked with eighth-graders in the alley. And I didn't want to be in the school where grown up boys could just walk in and rape whomever fell into their trap. And the only safe place I loved to go was no longer safe from murders who had no respect for anything or anyone. I don't think that my fear was unreasonable.
Maybe that's why I loved Bonnie so much, my childhood best friend. She was fearless. While I ducked and covered in the face of danger, she stood with dignity, whether someone was threatening her or tornadoes were spinning above the mall where we were shopping. She was fearless.
Regardless of the turbulence of the sixth grade, God has given me wisdom in this one thing that enables me to sleep at night in this truly fallen world. In life there are countless tragedies that could devastate a person, not just wierdos and their antics, but sickness, danger, poverty, natural disaster. We live in the archer's attack on Braveheart and the arrows are tragedies. Our only defense is salvation. God is the umbrella, the shield around us, and He allows only the arrows of His choosing under the cover of His mercy, and that to change us and build endurance. *Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.*
So I'm thankful that God has chosen the events of my course and will craft in me the character of His goodness in due time.
In the sixth grade I had relatively short frizzy red hair that may have been construed in current fashion circles as a mullet. I wore glasses. They weren't the dark brown trendy 80s-esque frames that everyone esle wore; mine were blue. And not blue everywhere, but blue in clear plastic that faded in and out. The arms, the sides of the glasses, swooped down in perfect grandma fashion on each side. My favorite thing to wear with my blue glasses, was a blue and white striped wide-necked sweater, and a shell necklace that my friend Melissa brought me from Hawaii. Not a pretty white choker that is still fashionable, a long string of seashells that "chinked" everytime I moved. As a sixth grader, I was pretty hot.
It was cold one morning when I rolled out of bed at ten minutes to eight; everyone else was rushing around to get to where they were going. By the time I had dressed and brushed my teeth, which was really all I did to get ready for school, the house was nearly empty and I was forced to make the trek by myself. Scarffing my breakfast, I prayed that the smokers wouldn't be in the alley as I pulled back a corner of the curtain on the back door and peeked through the window. To my dismay there was a raucous swarm of jean-jacket clad teenagers puffing away. Of course I considered going out the front door and walking the extra two blocks to avoid them completely, but I knew I'd be late for school. So I had a little pep talk with myself about how I was eleven now and needed to be tougher and push past my silly fears of strangers and walking places by myself. Taking a deep breath, I put on my bravest face and strode through the backdoor and down the sidewalk to the gate. My heart was racing, but my face was stone cold and I was fearless... until I caught the attention of the oldest member of the crowd.
Remember when you were in school and there was always a guy hanging around the parking lot, sometimes he'd show up at recess and you thought he was so cool? He must've been at least 19 because he had a 10-speed and a cigarrette behind his ear. He usually wore sunglasses, an REO Speedwagon t-shirt, and only the cool kids knew his name...? You know the guy. That was the guy in the alley that day that interrupted the conversation of the pack to say, "Hey there, pretty thing," and smile an invitational smile.
Alarms went off in my head; I was panic-strickened. I was a fearful child, for whatever reason, but this was the first I had experienced immanent danger by myself.
I hurried on to the safety of the orthodontist's parking lot hoping there would be people with early appointments on the other side of that gate. Trying not to "run scared" I scurried as fast as I could to school and then cried all day. My teacher was so wise in her dealings with me. I was not only fearful, but often very emotional as well, so she drew the attention away from my desk by the window and went right on teaching like everything was fine while I put my head on the desk and cried.
The time frame is sketchy here because everything sat in my memory like the present; it may have been the same month weeks prior when a fellow 6th grader was raped on school grounds by a high boy who played to her general innocence and coerced her into the auditorium where he sexually assaulted an eleven-year-old girl. Someone I saw everyday at school was assaulted in a place I was forced to go everyday. And maybe it was two or three weeks before that when our there was a telephone call during Sunday morning worship with a request to pray for another church who had, minutes before, been accosted by a man toting a duffel bag full of guns and ammunition who randomly opened fire on the congregation. Both events troubled me deeply.
What changed me in those consecutive events was the reality that tragedy is no respector of persons and people are not generally good. That's a tough pill to swallow for a child. I didn't want to go to school because I was afraid that I wouldn't be so lucky the next time I ran into the drop-out that smoked with eighth-graders in the alley. And I didn't want to be in the school where grown up boys could just walk in and rape whomever fell into their trap. And the only safe place I loved to go was no longer safe from murders who had no respect for anything or anyone. I don't think that my fear was unreasonable.
Maybe that's why I loved Bonnie so much, my childhood best friend. She was fearless. While I ducked and covered in the face of danger, she stood with dignity, whether someone was threatening her or tornadoes were spinning above the mall where we were shopping. She was fearless.
Regardless of the turbulence of the sixth grade, God has given me wisdom in this one thing that enables me to sleep at night in this truly fallen world. In life there are countless tragedies that could devastate a person, not just wierdos and their antics, but sickness, danger, poverty, natural disaster. We live in the archer's attack on Braveheart and the arrows are tragedies. Our only defense is salvation. God is the umbrella, the shield around us, and He allows only the arrows of His choosing under the cover of His mercy, and that to change us and build endurance. *Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.*
So I'm thankful that God has chosen the events of my course and will craft in me the character of His goodness in due time.
Thanks for sharing your heart. I feel like I know you a little more after each post. What a special treat to read more from you. Thanks for writing. Love you my friend!!
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