My Father Says...

In light of all that is going on in the United States these days, the controversy that swirls around the building of a mosque near Ground Zero in NYC, the enormous financial challenges that many of us are facing because of various decisions made in the political arena concerning mortgages, credit cards, and loss of income, I thought that I would discuss tolerance today. In addition, there are a number of personal family matters in my private life that require a decision about being tolerant (or not), and on and on it goes. Anyway,  I'm going to share a family story concerning tolerance without actually connecting the dots. I'll leave that for you to do in your own way and following the dictates of your own heart.

Now, if I've told this story before, please forgive me. I'm getting old and forgetful.

When my son was eight years old, he and my daughter were attending a private Christian school where I also taught. Unbeknownst to me, he was struggling every recess with an overzealous classmate. This classmate was a big bear of a boy who would literally pick my son up, twirl him around, and, as if that weren't enough humiliation, he'd plant a big kiss on my son's lips. Of course, then all the other children would laugh. No playground teacher ever addressed it.

At long last, I did find out what was going on and had a talk with the young man's parents, both of whom were also teachers at the school. Anyway, they both assured me that their son didn't mean anything by it. He was just a big, lovable lug. I told them that since it was bothering my son that their lovable lug needed to cut it out.

Still no action. None. Every day the same story. I tried to be longsuffering and I tried also to encourage longsuffering in my son. Wrong choice. Totally.

One evening, my son was sitting with his head down at the supper table and his dad asked him what the trouble was. The story spilled out and his father listened carefully.

"This is what I want you to do tomorrow" my husband said. "When you see him coming, tell him that you have your father's permission to punch his lights out."

I'm pretty certain that my head spun, but I didn't say too much as I recognized the wisdom of the plan. It proved to be the end of the story. It happened just once. All my son had to do was invoke the name of his father. He didn't even have to punch out the lovable lug's lights. The mere knowledge that my son wasn't going to tolerate being twirled and kissed any longer and that he had his father's permission not to tolerate it were all that was needed. Oh happy day!

Sometimes I think more of us have to get to this place. I think we might be surprised by what our heavenly Father doesn't want us tolerating in the first place. You might try asking Him. I know that I do and often.