Real Consequences

When I was about nine years old, the next door neighbor's son, who was several years older than I, had a motorcycle--a dirt bike.  He had invited me several times to get on and ride with him.  Mom had warned us to stay away from him and his bike.  "Motorcycles are dangerous.  You'll get hurt." 

My brother, who was 2-1/2 years younger than I was, never feared anything.  In his whole life.  He didn't care if mom said not to ride the motorbike.  He was going to do what he wanted.  He got on the back of the bike and let the neighbor boy ride him around the loop track he'd created on their large lot.  My little brother loved it and prodded me to take a spin too. 

I wanted to fit in, and it did look fun.  I finally accepted a ride.  My first mistake was riding a motorbike with shorts on.  My second mistake was trusting the neighbor to keep me safe.  The ride was a blast.  I loved it.  Getting off the bike, I sustained a muffler burn on my calf. 

Knowing my disobedience would earn a scolding at the very least, and possibly a grounding, I didn't tell mom.  I snuck into the house and pulled my sock down to see the damage.  A large square burn on my inner calf looked awful.  The skin was raw and oozing, surrounded by black.  I taped a piece of tissue over the burn, then pulled my sock up over it to keep it hidden.

Mom never knew.  It eventually healed up, leaving a strange square scar, which has since faded, but this occurrence reinforced my belief that it was my own fault when bad things happened to me.  If I hadn't disobeyed mom, I wouldn't have sustained that muffler burn.

I decided consequences are very real, and I didn't like them much.   Better safe than dead. 

Now I realize some risks are worth taking.  Sometimes we must step out in faith, in boldness, trusting God to keep us safe.  No great thing is accomplished without some risk.

Bitten By Bad

I remember when I was a small child playing with my cousin who is almost a year younger than I.  We were just having fun out in the front yard at my aunt's house when he grabbed my arm and bit me.  Hard.  Left a circle of teeth marks.  And bruised almost immediately.  I ran inside crying, holding my arm in search of my mother to protect me. 

For whatever reason, whether it was fear of conflict with my aunt, or a real belief in what she was saying, she responded, "Well, what did you do to make him bite you?"  Upon my insistence that I'd done nothing to provoke the attack, she insisted, "You must have done something.  He wouldn't have bitten you unless you did something to him first."  

My takeaway from that situation?

1) Bad things happen to me.

2) Any bad thing that happens to me must be my own fault.

3) Mom isn't going to take my side, no matter what bad thing happens.

These were reasonable assumptions for a child of four.  Not true, but logical in a child-like mind.  These assumptions of the reality of the world around me had a profound effect on the rest of my life up to this moment.  

I still struggle with the idea that every bad thing that happens to me is my own fault.  That something I've done, or said, or thought, provoked the bad thing that happened.  I have struggled all my life with feeling powerless over my own destiny.  Intellectually, I know that's not true, but emotionally, I have a deep-seated undergirding belief that I will always lose because I'm a loser and it will be my own fault.  

I've always expected pain, difficulties, personal attacks, with no defender to come to my aid.  That's my reality.  I've fought against that reality on the surface, while deep down thinking I have no right to complain or make things better because I deserve my "loser-ness."

Princes on white horses were great for others--they deserved such wonderful futures--but not for me.  I suffered whatever came my way in silence and without argument because it wasn't unexpected.  I was a "bad-magnet."