Words that Hurt, Words that Mend

Prompt: Your character overhears something that changes their path.

Words that Hurt, Words that Mend

You all know the adage ‘kids can be cruel.’ It became a silent mantra I would repeatedly say to myself as I ventured through my elementary school days. I knew best to avoid conflict and to deflect the disparaging comments I overheard with a smile. It was evident at my school. I was distinct. Sort of black, with a blunt, splayed nose. I was a child from a black dad and a white mom. I was still a big guy which put me into another group, but it was one that kept me safe. After a while, the instigators would stop because they saw no visible response on my face or change in my behavior. No one, not even my parents, knew that there were times I would come home and sit in my closet. Quietly I would sob hoping to release the heartache. I was beginning to think I was watching too much of the news because images of all the negative news flashed in my mind as well. The inner angst was building inside me. Was this what I would get from the world?

I knew I was not in the right place, in body and in mind. It got worse at junior high school. You would think my teacher would have been more compassionate, but she was as hostile as ever toward me.  I over heard her say that I was “lazy, slow-witted, and even dumb.” Time could not pass quickly enough for me to start high school.

I attended a public high school in my home town. The local politicos and school administrators touted it as a racially mixed school. The number of racially diverse people was extremely low. There were clusters of various groups typecasted by race, manner of dress, and behaviors. For instance, the few blacks would hang with each other; long hair hippies stayed with their kind; sports jocks hung with themselves; the want to be yuppies joined with the preppies, and a few lone Hispanics meandered about.   I was in the minority for my skin color and as a big guy who grew facial hair during my freshman year. You might say I looked bad-ass. Together all those things added to my isolation. Sadly, I did feel alone, but the heartbreak was seeing the resentment and disgust in the eyes of the various groups toward each other and then back at me. I did a lot of soul searching about my body image and self-worth.

My heart was telling me that this might be the chance to soften the eyes of all those groups who resented the school, each other, and particularly myself. I likened myself as an ambassador of the school extending friendship where little, if any, existed. I made it a personal quest to understand human relationships. In the school library I became obsessed at reading any book I could find on philosophy, psychology, and cultural anthropology. I supplemented my readings with other theological texts cross referencing them with my favorite book, the Bible. I was becoming a true nerd. Just what I needed, another label.

At first, it was tough breaking through the veneer of the various groups. Initially, I had to deflect a lot of negative comments and criticisms about myself. As the negativity increased so did my stamina, empathy, and resolve to connect.  I became a good listener, and a good empathizer. I was amazed that my gaze seemed to pierce deep into their souls (those baby brown eyes of mine). I heard what they were saying. These experiences helped me to realize that people want to be heard; they want someone to actually care about who they are; they thirst for inclusion retaining their individuality.  It goes deeper than the cliché “Walk a mile in my shoes.” It is more like “share my mile each day as we walk together.” I learned to understand even more about myself. I learned that there were many students with self-imposed prisons because of their identity. They clamor to share and experience life to the full, but attitudes impose harsh sentences when all of us “judge a book by its cover.”    

Some acquaintances told me that my four years of high school would never provide a good foundation for my future. Conversely, my experiences in high school did set my course into adulthood. My heart was aching; my spirit was longing, and pining for something. I just could not grasp what it was. My efforts to form long lasting relationships in high school did not materialize as I had hoped.  

The small college I attended on a full scholarship was anything but blissful. Most of the student body was white. Tensions between racial groups were covert, hateful, and damaging. Some people thought I was an athlete on a full ride for my physical prowess.  I overheard other students saying I got accepted solely based on affirmative action guidelines.  No one ever bothered to ask me if I got an academic scholarship. I resolved I would have to prove my character while still trying to discover who and what I was meant to become. I was in desperate need of acceptance; I had little dignity. I was struggling for self-love.

Thankfully, I excelled at my humanities and social science classes. It came at a cost, however. There were heated debates in some of my classes about race theory, entitlements to black Americans and other volatile subjects related to the human condition. I would garner up the stamina to vocalize my opposing viewpoints. My classmates were outright hostile, but white professors were in awe of my oratory skills, my supporting arguments, and convictions to my beliefs. I had very few friends during my first year. Consequently, I decided I had to channel my unleashed energies elsewhere.

One day a feeling came over me as I looked at myself in the mirror. I remembered how my parents each found their purpose in life before they knew each other. I decided maybe to search for campus groups that espoused my beliefs and my virtues.  I wanted to do something, to be something to someone that would give them their identity while understanding my own. I wanted to unveil their purpose in life believing it would help to uncover my purpose. Given all the humanities classes I had taken and still were taking, I thought I had an answer.  

By my efforts I felt I had to be the agent of change in other people's lives and even my own. Consequently, the love I expressed to others was hollow. There was no substance behind it. Did I act out of my own ulterior motives? Was I looking for acceptance? Perhaps my actions were for personal glory, and self-affirmation? Maybe, to be a prideful example? Was I hoping to be rewarded by God for my good behavior? I practiced turning the other cheek when I was verbally abused. I tried to be gracious in life. I tried to attentively listen to others. I tried to walk with other people in friendship. I tried to look deep inside the heart of the people I would encounter. I did all of these things!  I tried! I tried! I tried by my efforts!  I was still shallow, failing in my connections! I needed to understand that receiving a person’s respect or love cannot come from an individual who does not fear or know God, who does not fear consequences, and has placed one’s self at the center of their universe. Full of themselves and no one else.  

I looked into the mirror again seeing myself as an old man gazing at an incredible light just above the clouds on the horizon. Was it too late? I knew best I was not a lost cause because Jesus loves me with all my anomalies and dysfunction. I believed that His plan for me was unfurling before my eyes. And one day in church I heard these mending, healing words: “Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.  Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.  This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through Him.” (1John 4: 7-9, NIV)

That single glimpse into the mirror of my imminent purpose energized me with urgency. I finished college at a torrent rate. I crammed two more years into one. My professors were stunned. Word got out about my impeccable initiative to complete my degree. I was flooded with countless job offers in teaching, social services, human resources; I was even solicited by a few law schools. I really did not want to draw attention to myself, so I graduated in a private ceremony with just my parents. Without fanfare or lengthy goodbyes to my family, I made the decision to “drop off the grid.” I was not going into a society that characterized individuals by a job title, by a race, ethnicity, or creed.  I was going incognito. I decided I would be another face in the sea of humanity.  Invigorated with God’s Spirit and my epiphany of Jesus’ redemptive work within me, I would be a walking minister strolling the streets, by-ways, alleys, under passes, parks, strip malls, bus stops, train stations, airports; anywhere I could declare the Name of Jesus imparting His unconditional love. No strings attached; all anomalous and failed people welcomed!  

You may see me one day in the streets of your town. I could be the person setting up a sidewalk church. Maybe, I will be the person toting a bullhorn speaking about the love of Jesus? Or, I could just be holding up a sign that simply says “Jesus saves.” Look for me in the homeless shelter passing out food to the homeless. I could be the person hammering nails to help build a habitat home. Look for me helping to bind the wounds of people hurt by fire, flood or even street violence. Maybe I will be collecting food for a food pantry; maybe, I will be consoling the sick in a hospital or visiting the forgotten residents in a senior home? Maybe I will be befriending the despised and repulsed inmates in a prison? Maybe I will be working with you side by side in the Name of Jesus Christ. I know best that one day we will meet to witness the glory of Jesus in eternity. Until then, let not your words be filled with hurt, but be those that mend.

Author: Pete Gautchier (adapted and revised from my original story on Wilbur knows best)

Acknowledgement: Reedsy Prompt