Day 18: A Childhood Memory

When I was in fifth grade, there was a kid in my class - Carl - that I hated.  I have no idea why this was.  He was a nice kid, a little on the nerdy (aka smart) side, dressed a little funny, always brought his lunch.  Ironically, he's exactly the type of person I grew up to hang out with in high school and college - the kind, smart, slightly-neurotic, ridiculously talented type.  But in fifth grade, I hated him.

And I was mean to him.  Like, mean.  I would lie in bed at night and think of mean things to say to him or names to call him.  I'm not kidding.  I still have a hard time believing this about myself, but I bullied this kid.  And he was the only one.  I was fine with everyone else.

A few years later, God really got a hold of me and my life started to change.  I quit lying (I was a compulsive liar) and even my parents will tell you I became a different child.  By then, I had moved school districts and lost complete contact with Carl.  I regretted the way I had treated him, so I looked up his address in the phone book and wrote him a letter telling him how sorry I was for the bully I had been.

When I was in 9th grade, I was in forensics.  We had a tournament at one of the high schools in town and lo and behold - there was Carl on the other side of the commons area.  I remember feeling that feeling when your stomach drops and your mouth goes dry because you know you need to do something but you just don't want to.  Sending a letter was easy.  But I needed to fess up.  Apologize.  Ask for forgiveness.  In person.

I forced my feet across the room to the place where Carl was rehearsing with a classmate.  I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was something to the effect of, "Hi Carl. I don't know if you remember me" (but of course I knew very well that he did - it's hard to forget someone who makes your life hell) "but I just wanted to tell you how very sorry I am for what I did to you in school.  I hope you can forgive me."

I am tearing up as I write this because it is such a beautiful picture of grace.  Carl, who had every right to turn his back, put his arm on my shoulder and said, "Thanks for coming and talking to me.  I forgive you.  Let's both forget it ever happened."

I still marvel at this.  I grew up in a household where kindness, compassion, love were all emphasized through the belief that God created all and all have value.  I have no idea what Carl was raised to believe, but in that moment, whether he knew Jesus or not, he was extending Christ-like forgiveness - the kind that just doesn't make sense and can only be explained by grace.

A priceless memory.  A priceless lesson.