Have you ever been deeply wounded by another person who, with deliberate action and malice aforethought, hurt you on purpose?

Have you waited for justice to be served?

And waited some more?

Are you still waiting?

(Maddening, isn’t it?)

In our broken world, wounds come in three ways. Sometimes people wound us unintentionally. It is to be expected in the rough and tumble of imperfect people living on Planet Earth. These wounds are easier to forgive because there was no malicious intent.

Sometimes we wound ourselves by our own poor choices. We make bad and/or foolish decisions. That pain is at the self-serve pump. No one to blame but ourselves.

Then there are the wounds inflicted by others who hurt us on purpose. They knew exactly what they were doing and they did it anyway. Perhaps it was a quick measured decision. Perhaps it was a long process of planning to do evil to us. And when we are blindsided by their harmful actions we stagger back, wondering how anyone could do so much intentional damage with no regard or conscience?

In the middle of our pain we console ourselves with the thought that certainly justice will be coming. The account will be set straight. They will have an attack of conscience and come to us with apology and we will have our satisfaction. Then we will be vindicated.

At first we hope for that.

Then we wait for that.

Then we wait some more.

Then we seethe over the delay and think, “It will happen. It must happen.”

(Not you, of course. But people I know. They think this way.)

Then one day we wake up and realize that the apology we’re waiting for will never come. Their conscience has cobwebs on it. More infuriating, the one who did evil to us is cruising through life without hitting so much as a speed bump.

What to do?

Here’s what my friend Jennifer has to say on the topic. I don’t think anyone could say it better. If you see yourself at all in the above paragraphs, this will hit you like a train. Read this carefully, let it sink in. Apply it to your life if you need to, then pass it along to anyone who could benefit.

“Picture yourself walking through your life at this moment. But turn yourself around in your picture….you’re walking backwards. Not traveling to the past, but moving forward into your future, while facing backwards.

Instead of seeing your future and all the new people in it, you are constantly staring at your awful past. Especially at those who did evil to you.

As long as you continue to want to be vindicated and wish for an apology while looking back at how wrongly you were treated, reflecting constantly on how you were gipped, you will walk your life moving in a forward motion, only facing backwards.

Walking forward, facing backwards you will miss all the beauty of the things and people in your life right now. Because in your soul you are not facing them, you are looking backwards. And because of that you will see your future through past events. It will cause you to guard your heart and miss out on all the joy because of your “facing backwards” perspective.

It will happen in your thoughts. It will happen during what should be happy moments. All are tainted by facing backwards.

When you decide to grab your healing by the horns and shout it out that you refuse to allow one more day to be stolen, you will find yourself turning around and walking forwards, facing forwards.  Then you will see the new things, the new people and the good things that are happening in your life.” - Jennifer Hildebrandt 

 ”This one thing I do: Forgetting what lies behind and straining toward what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 3:13b-14

Todd A. Thompson – www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

In mathematical terms, pi is “a physical constant defined as the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter”. It’s usually written out to 3.141, just three decimal places. Yet theoretically, there is no limit to the number of decimals it can be written to.

Being one who is mathematically challenged and believes the handheld calculator is right up there with fire and the wheel as significant in human history, several thoughts come to mind.

First…why?

Second…really. Why?

Third…”mental health counselor” and memorizing 100,000 digits don’t seem to go together.

Finally, the ability of the human mind. The most advanced computer on earth is like a Commodore 64 compared to our God-created brain. Some scientists speculate we use less than 2% of our brain’s capacity. Read the newspaper accounts of the wacko things some people do and 2% seems like a high estimate. Regardless, we’re all underachievers when it comes to using our brain.

I was thinking about Mr. Haraguchi’s feat of reciting 100,000 decimals and said to myself, “There’s no way I could remember a list that long.”

Maybe so. Yet I don’t seem to have trouble remembering long lists of other things.

Like the wrongs done to me by other people.

And I suspect I’m not alone.

Why is it that many of us can’t remember five items on a grocery list but we can recall in detail how we’ve been hurt by others over the years?

We’re fallen people. We hurt others and others hurt us. That’s life in a broken world. It took God’s intervention to give us a way to break that cycle. It goes something like this…

God’s perfect. We’re not. Our sin separated us from God. We can’t bridge that gap on our own. So Jesus died on the cross to pay for our sins. Because of Jesus’ sacrifice, God forgives our sins. In turn, God instructs us to “forgive others as we have been forgiven”. That means forgiving with a willing heart. Or as Lewis Smedes so beautifully put it, “Forgiveness is giving up my right to hurt you for hurting me.” 

God says, “Forgive one another as I have forgiven you” (Colossians 3:13). He says when He forgives us that He “separates our sins from us as far as the east is from the west” (Psalm 103:12).  

So how does God forgive? He forgives and forgets. 

Not easy for fallen people like us to do. We may forgive, or at least try to. But there’s something in us that is loathe to forget. It’s as though we take the forgiven hurt and bury it in the back corner of our mind, but before walking away we pound a stake to mark the memory in case we want to dig it up again.

When we choose to repeatedly dig up the memories of wrongs done to us, either to satisfy our desire for revenge or to avoid taking personal responsibility for our own failures, we don’t allow God the opportunity to grow anything good from the pain.

Worse, if we hang on to our hurt long enough, it becomes our identity. I know people who’ve chosen to allow a wrong suffered 20 years ago to define their existence. They have chosen to be defined by their pain instead of experiencing the freedom of forgiveness. And it is a choice. When we dig up the memory of a wrong done to us, we’re the one holding the shovel.

There’s nothing easy about this. It is tearful, agonizing work. When Jesus said we need to forgive our brother 70 x 7, I think it’s because He understands that forgiveness is a process. When painful memories come to mind, we forgive. Again. Then give the pain back to the sovereignty of God. We give our pain back to God because He is the only One capable of bringing something good from it. When we trust God with our pain, it will never be for free. In His time, He makes all things beautiful.

Until that happens for you and me, let’s at least do our best to leave the shovel alone. If we can just stop turning the dirt over, God will have a chance to grow something good.

“Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” – Ephesians 4:31-32

The cover of the Sports Illustrated from 1975 says, “Cowboys Win A Shocker”. The Minnesota Vikings had the playoff game in the bag. Roger Staubach and the Cowboys were down and time was running out. On a desperation play that came to be known as “The Hail Mary”, Staubach lofted a pass downfield in the direction of Drew Pearson who, with evil intent and malice aforethought, blatantly pushed Vikings’ defensive back Nate Wright into the turf before catching the ball on his hip. He went into the end zone not as the conquering hero who won the game but as a kid caught with both hands in the cookie jar. He knew, as did everyone in the stadium and everyone watching on national television, that he had pushed off. Offensive pass interference. He was looking for the penalty flag.

The flag that never came.

Cowboys win. Vikings get hosed.

The biggest no-call in the history of Vikings football. That Drew Pearson years later admitted he pushed off didn’t make me feel any better.

It’s not fair.

It bothers me to know that my worthy childhood heros like Fran Tarkenton, Alan Page, Jim Marshall, Carl Eller and Bill Brown never won a Super Bowl while a bunch of undeserving Philistines like the Cowboys have won many. It’s not fair! 

Football is just a game. But what do we do when the calls don’t go our way in real life?

What do you do when someone with less tenure, less experience, less education and lower performance gets promoted ahead of you? What do you do when your company down-sizes you out of a job the same week you find out you’re expecting a baby? What do you do when the doctor says the tumor is malignant? What do you do when your character and reputation are tainted and misrepresented by another person? What do you say when you come out of the store to find your car window smashed and your stereo stolen? What do you do when lightening hits and burns your house to the ground?

They say “fair” is where you buy cotton candy. That’s true. I’ve bought it there before. But life? Life certainly isn’t fair.

Maybe our expectations are unrealistic. We live in a fallen world full of broken people. Present company included. Given the systemic corruption of our very nature, is it realistic to expect fairness? To use a farm analogy, expecting justice and fairness from a broken world is like putting a milk bucket under a bull. It just ain’t gonna happen.

Sometimes life isn’t fair and we had nothing to do with it. We were just eating our cotton candy and got blindsided by an injustice. Sometimes life isn’t fair and we had something to do with it and the mess we find ourselves in is our own doing. Regardless, God is very up front about the fact that life post-Eden isn’t fair. He reminds us throughout the Bible that our sin made “fair” the rare exception and not the rule. King David said, “Many are the afflictions of the righteous.” (Psalm 34) Jeremiah was viscerally descriptive in his anguish over the sad circumstances of his life. “He has broken my teeth with gravel and trampled me in the dust.” (Lamentations 3) The assumption of the New Testament writers was that trials and tribulations were to be expected. Even Jesus Himself in His Sermon on the Mount talks about the poor, the oppressed, those who mourn and those who are persecuted falsely. Life is hard and God knows that. 

We can’t change the fact that life isn’t fair. We can be glad that God is bigger than our circumstances. Much as we might not understand it, He may be doing His best work in and through us in the middle of our most painful situations. We’re wasting our time if we try to make life “fair”, then complain when it isn’t. Life’s hard. That’s reality. Whatever our circumstances, we need to align ourselves with what God wants to do to make us more like Jesus. It’s painful and we won’t do it perfectly. Sometimes we submit to God’s hand kicking and screaming. But God is lovingly patient and committed to making us more like His Son. He knows that persevering through hard times is part of that process.

Life is hard. Painfully so. But God is good. He promises never to quit on you. In the middle your “it’s not fair!”, His grace is sufficient.

“For I am confident that He (God) who began a good work in you will continue to perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 1:6

These best friends went out to ride their bikes together and never came back. Some despicable, evil bastard stabbed them multiple times and left them for dead.

In an unrelated Fox News story, a stray dog in Nairobi, Kenya found an abandoned newborn baby in the forest. The dog got the baby girl out of the plastic bag she was put in, dragged her out of the woods, across a busy street and through a barbed wire fence into a shed where her own puppies were. The 7 pound 4 ounce infant is now in the care of hospital workers who have named her “Angel”.

Adults who are supposed to protect the young, murder kids and abandon babies in the forest. What does it say about our human condition when a stray dog demonstrates a better understanding of care and nurture than we do?

Some say the world is going to the dogs. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Murder. A mafia hit is something we can make sense of. When Guido gets popped in the head while eating seafood linguine at the neighborhood ristorante because he spilled the family secrets to the Feds, we get that. When someone goes postal and brings a shotgun to work looking for the boss who made his life miserable, we shake our head and say we could never react that way but we think, “Some people just get pushed too far and then they snap.” Gang bangers wage turf wars and kill each other in drive by shootings. It’s a tremendous waste of potential, but we say, ala Karl Marx, “environment determines expression” and we can sort of understand the tragic cycle.

Second grade girls haven’t lived long enough to betray secrets or experience pent up, trigger happy anger or mark their territory with a Glock. Second grade girls watch Rugrats and Sponge Bob Square Pants on TV and show each other the shiny tassels on their handlebars and think it’s oh so grown up to have a tube of glittery watermelon lip gloss in their pink Barbie backpack.

When Guido sleeps with the fishes and quiet Bob goes off with the 12-gauge and Paco shoots Jimmy while he’s washing his street rod, we shake our heads. But we kind of sort of get it.

When innocent second grade girls are murdered, there’s nothing to get but absolutely, completely livid in an “I want to kill whoever did that” way.

Think it’s a little extreme to feel that way?

I don’t.

A couple years ago someone asked me what I would do if someone tried to hurt my little daughters. I answered in a very calm and rational tone. “Whoever it is better know Jesus because I’ll kill them so fast they won’t have time to get saved.” The questioner backed away slowly. I guess it wasn’t the response he was expecting. I make no apology for being Papa Bear. God put me here to take care of my cubs and this I will do, to the death if need be.

How does one be Christ-like when responding to evil? How is a Christian to respond to gut wrenching headlines like this? Don’t be too quick with the Sunday School answer that “God loves the killer, too.” Yes, God does. Theologically, that’s correct. And for the families of these girls, it’s a truth that’s as hollow as an old dead stump. God is also the creator of life. I can’t imagine He is anything but angry and heart shredded by their senseless deaths.

It’s maddening though. Because God does love the killer. My human mind rants and rails against it, but it’s true. God’s offer of forgiveness and mercy is on the table for all of humanity. Even the ones who murder little girls. And in that statement lies both the evidence and my conviction. “Even the ones…” It betrays a mindset that deep down believes some sinners are worse than others. And of course I place myself in the “not as bad as they” category. How could I be as bad as the evil maniac who murdered these girls?

I may not be as bad, but it’s not about being bad. It’s about falling short.

God says we all fall short of His perfection. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23) My prideful attitude, my occasional outburst of anger, my lustful thoughts, my desire for more at the expense of contentment, take your pick. Any one of these sins causes me to fall short of God’s perfection. Which means on my own merit, I don’t have a relationship with God and I don’t see heaven.

No, I’ve never killed anyone. But in a long jump contest at the rim of the Grand Canyon, there are no winners.

Only when we get up close to our own dirt do we realize the benevolent, gracious love of God. Romans 5:8 says that, “God showed His great love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

Southern Baptist preacher/writer Will Campbell paraphrases the verse this way. “We’re all bastards. But God loves us anyway.”

Amen.

I was playing behind my grandparents’ farm house, throwing a red rubber baseball high into a square of blue sky, framed on three sides by the tops of evergreen and elm trees that marked the borders of the backyard. It felt good to wind up and pitch. On the way up, it was a desperate attempt at a base hit by anyone from the Detroit Tigers. On the way down it was always a routine diving catch by the Twins’ Harmon Killebrew or Tony Oliva.

On this particular early afternoon in my backyard Metropolitan Stadium, the Tigers’ Al Kaline was trying to avoid going 0-4. His high fly ball along the right field line reached its apex when I heard the familiar squeak of the rusty spring on the front gate. Someone was either coming or going. I wonder who? Remembering we were in the middle of an inning, I looked up just in time for Harmon to make a miraculous over-the-shoulder grab. My game wasn’t over, yet who was at the gate? Hmm, what to do…

Suddenly an unexpected thunderstorm rolls in over 3rd base! The umpire waves both teams off the field. Up in the booth overlooking home plate WCCO Radio’s Herb Carneal, the voice of the Twins, announces yet another Minnesota victory while I run around the corner past the old stump to see whomever it was that made that metal gate talk.

I got to the fence just in time to hear the distinctive whine of the starter on Grandpa Thompson’s brown Chrysler Newport. I waved and yelled and he rolled down the window. “Whatcha want, bud?”, he asked over the idle of the engine. “Grandpa, where are you going?”

“I’m going for a ride.”

A ride? “Can I come with you?”

“Yep.”

“Wait for me, ok? I need to tell Grandma where I’ll be!”

Sprinting up the sidewalk I put two and two together. Grandpa was going for a ride. That must mean he’s going to Fairmont. And going to Fairmont with Grandpa means ice cream! And my sister isn’t here, so…I’ve got Grandpa and the ice cream all to myself!

Flinging open the front door I jumped the three steps into the kitchen. My Grandma was sitting by her porcelain topped table kneading out the dough for her delicious Parker House rolls. “I’m going for a ride with Grandpa. Can you call my Mom and tell her where I am?”

“Sure”, she said, pouring some flour into the sifter. I darted from room to room, looking for the jacket Mom told me not to take off and found it hanging over a wingback chair in the den. I grabbed it and ran out to the car.

It took a giant pull with both hands to close the big door on the Chrysler. Grandpa looked over at me from his side of the front seat.

“All set?”

“All set, Grandpa. Let’s go!” What a great day this is turning out to be! Warm weather, whipping the Detroit Tigers in the backyard and now a trip to Fairmont for a giant ice cream cone with my Grandpa. Life is good.

He dropped the shifter into reverse, reached his right arm over the seat and turned to begin backing up.

We’re on our way! Do I want chocolate or vanilla today?

He looked forward again and shifted into “drive”.

I think I’ll have chocolate.

He straightened the wheels.

Make that a chocolate sundae with whipped cream and a cherry.

Then he calmly drove into the garage, parked, and turned off the ignition. I didn’t understand. This is not Fairmont. This is the garage. I’ve been here before. Unless you’re a connoisseur of old hubcaps, there’s nothing to see.

“Grandpa! I thought you said you were going for a ride?!”

His eyes sparkled underneath the brim of his hat. “I didn’t say how long it would be.” He laughed himself silly all the way to the house where he would be sure to tell my Grandma and every extended family member he could find about the “big trip” he took with his grandson. I’ve yet to live it down. Over 25 years later, my family still asks me to tell them about my ride with Grandpa.

Grandpa’s joke inadvertently taught me an important lesson, one I wouldn’t recognize the value of until my backyard baseball days were long behind me. Simply put, not every trip we take in this life ends up the way we think it will. We begin with the grandest intentions and delicious dreams of chocolate sundae results. That is as it should be. When we pull the door shut on our life’s big Chrysler to pursue our adventure, it’s natural to think we’re really going somewhere.

“Son, heres a full ride Division I football scholarship. Next fall you’ll be dodging Wolverines and Buckeyes…”

“Congratulations and welcome to the company. Here’s your corner office…”

“Good news, Mr.. & Mrs.. Smith. You’re pregnant…”

Yet life being what it is, sometimes we find our trip was an all too short journey to an all too familiar place.

“Sorry, son. The ligament is gone. Walking? Yes. Football? Not a chance.”

“Due to our company’s downsizing, your position has been eliminated…”

“We can’t find the heartbeat. We’re very sorry…”

This isn’t Fairmont. This is the garage. I’ve been here before and there’s nothing to see.

If during the course of life one of your big trips ends up in the garage, remember the overriding promises of God.

“I love you” (Romans 5:8; John 3:16)

“Nothing can separate you from My love” (Romans 8:31-39)

“I will never leave you, nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5)

“I am near to the broken-hearted” (Psalm 34:18)

“I will complete the good work I began in you” (Philippians 1:6)

When you ride with God, you’re always headed in the right direction.

A pleasant discovery upon moving to the Phoenix valley was how much life exists in the desert. God has created a number of both plants and animals to thrive in this climate.

One enjoyable way to get some exercise during the months October through May, the time when it isn’t a gazillion degrees hot, is to hike in the Superstition Mountains. Besides getting away from the incessant noise of the city, it’s fascinating to get a close look at the plant life. The green bark of the Palo Verde trees. The rubbery feel of the jojoba leaves. The spiny needle tips of the agaves. Fiery orange blooms of the ocotillo. And if you’ve ever been in the desert after a rain, you’ll never forget the scent of greasewood in the air.

And there are cactus. The names describe them well. Chain Fruit Cholla. Strawberry Hedgehog. Fishhook Barrel. Clock-face Prickly Pear. A couple of my visiting friends have gotten a bit too close to some of the cactus. They learned the hard way that the plant is called “Jumping Cholla” for a reason.

To me, the most impressive cactus in the desert is the Saguaro. Carnegiea gigantea for you botanists. Like human beings, it is the only living species in its genus. The usual life span of the saguaro is between 150 and 200 years, yet the odds against these giant cactus becoming giant are more than great. A saguaro may produce as many as 40 million seeds in its lifetime while only one of these seeds will likely mature into a plant that outlives its parent. A saguaro fortunate to develop as a seedling will, at the age of 3 years, measure only one half an inch in height. They don’t bloom for the first time until they are about 50 years old, and grow their first arm around age 75.

A fascinating feature of the saguaro is the way it responds to being wounded. When a Gila Woodpecker or a Northern Flicker pecks through the thick waxy skin and hollows out a hole to make a nest, the saguaro seals that part of itself with a callus. It limits the damage and prevents decay from taking over the rest of the plant.

When it comes to the wounds in our life, we can all learn something from the saguaro. This giant cactus can’t stop woodpeckers and flickers from poking holes in its skin. Instead it seals the wound to keep from “bleeding to death”. Otherwise the wound would be allowed opportunity to decay. Necrosis would set in and eventually kill the plant.

We don’t have woodpeckers trying to poke holes in us. But we get wounded just the same. Life is rough and tumble. The Bible is right up front about that. It says in Psalm 34:19 that “Many are the afflictions of the righteous…”. Which is another way of saying that life is hard for even the kindest among us. Being a good person doesn’t make you immune from pain. We can’t control that. We’ve all been wounded.

We can’t always stop people from poking emotional holes in us. But we do have full control of our decision to treat, or not treat, our wound. Some of us are emotionally bleeding to death because we have chosen not to seal off our wound. Some of us are decaying from a wound inflicted on us many years ago. We’re playing the blame game, replaying in our mind the injustice done to us like a loop tape in a VCR. Blame and self-pity are drugs we’ve become addicted to. In the meantime, we look for some park ranger to feel sorry for us while we sit and decay, bitterly waiting for the woodpecker to come back and apologize.

Yet even if the woodpecker returns, full of remorse and contrition,  a hole is a hole. An apology might make us feel better, but a wound is a wound. When choose not to treat our emotional wound, we’re choosing not to grow.

Reality is that we won’t begin to heal until we decide to seal off the wounded area, limit the damage, and focus on growing up. There’s a reason 200 year old saguaros grow to be 200 years old. They don’t allow one woodpecker hole to determine their future.

How are you doing with your woodpecker holes? Are they sealed off? If you still have some open wounds, you’re not alone in your experience. God cares about you. And your wounds. With gentle grace and forgiveness, He wants to heal and seal; for the purpose of strong growth. God wants you to grow tall!

Sometime soon go for a hike out in the desert. Even if you have to hop a plane to get here, it’s worth it. Take a close look at the saguaros; these stately persevering creations of God. Run your fingers over a cactus callus and see the beauty of a century old plant that refuses to quit.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18