“Sometimes, I guess, there just aren't enough rocks”

At 14, I was every bit hell on wheel as the Tasmanian devil. I was broken, hurt, angry and afraid. I ran away from home to escape the hands crawling under my covers at night, and condemning, dark eyes staring me down until I believed I was worthless.

After a week on the run, the police found me hiding under a bed in the back of a single-wide trailer. The officer took me to the station and asked why I ran away.

Believing he--a police officer sworn to serve and protect--was a safe place to share what was going on, I timidly opened-up, only to be terrorized by his dismissive response.

He called my parents to pick me up and take me back home. The weeks following, my *parents pressed charges against me for ‘being out of control.' They took me to court and I was sentenced to six-months of Day Treatment in a Juvenile Detention Center.

Due to my Dad being in the military, the police reported to his commanding officer and he was ordered to pursue family counseling. His ‘punishment' only made things worse. I was hated for speaking-up and despised for humiliating them.

At best, my hope would’ve been for the counselor(s) to help somehow and I believe they did all they could. But, the reality is no human being has the ability to effect change in another human being’s heart, mind and soul without that person's cooperation and desire to change for themselves.

What I wanted more than anything was for someone to compassionately confront the brokenness out of love. I wished for courage to rise-up and for someone to see through the self-protective barricades and dare to speak the truth. To tenderly address the heartache while promoting healing instead of creating more pain.

Instead I was trapped in a prison of hopelessness, shame, embarrassment, despair, humiliation and utter terror. Left to wonder if I matter to anyone. I longed for someone to reach into the mess, sit with me and tell me it’s going to be okay, I’ve got you.

Like Jenny, in the 1994 movie Forrest Gump, I've often crumbled to the ground in a heap of tears realizing “there’s just not enough rocks” to throw at the injustices that have wreaked havoc on my ability to trust, to love or to have any faith in man at all. (if you haven’t watched the scene, you can find it on YouTube by searching the quote)

But, Jesus reached into my mess, sat with me, lifted my chin, looked into my eyes and said, “You’ve waited patiently for me. I’ve come because I heard your cry. Take my hand. I’m taking you to a rock you can stand on, not throw. You’ll sing songs and rejoice because you trust me.” (personal paraphrase of Psalm 40:1-4)

And then he showed me the way out of the pit I was in. In John chapter 8, the teachers of the law brought a woman to Jesus who was caught in the act of adultery. The teachers claimed that the law commanded them to stone such women.

But, Jesus, in his wisdom, knew rocks weren’t enough to restore the brokenness inside the oppressed or the oppressor.

He knew that punishment doesn’t have the power to change hearts, it only deepens shame and condemnation in the sinner and the wounded. He challenged the accusers to put down the rocks if they were without sin and he challenged the woman to leave her life of recklessness.

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This is the rub between brokenness and restoration. Between worldly justice and godly justice. This is where pride threatens to destroy faith... when the accuser demands the greatest punishment the law requires and the only hope for the accused is in the hands of mercy. This is where the wrestle in our own souls between giving grace and demanding justice is tested. Yet, this is where the Gospel shines brightest if we follow Jesus’ lead to put down the rocks and/or leave our lives of recklessness. (More on 'the rub' in my next blog).

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Do you see people in your life who might be longing for someone to rise-up and speak truth tenderly into their heartache? If so, are you willing to reach out your hand and help them up?

Do you relate more to the rock-thrower or the woman caught in sin? Have you considered Jesus’ challenge in John 8?

Where do you feel the rub between brokenness and restoration in your own life?

How can the Gospel best shine through your situation?

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