It wasn’t his finest grandparenting moment. But it certainly was a memorable one, one our oldest grandchildren still enjoy teasing him about to this day.

I don’t exactly remember the whole story, but one of our grandsons got off the bus from school in tears and we happened to be there. He had been the target of a nasty, first grade bully of the very worst stripe. His little heart was broken as, with quivering lips, he repeated all the embarrassing and hateful names hurled his way at recess that afternoon.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Kenny tenderly hoisted him up and looked him straight in those tear-filled eyes. The family paused, leaning in to hear the patriarch’s words of wisdom. “Next time somebody calls you names, you tell them, ‘Sticks and stones will break my bones, but you are fat and ugly!’”
 
Not exactly what we were expecting. Not exactly great advice.

But it was well-timed comedic relief at its best.

Well, until we heard that phrase giggled over and over again for the next twenty years!

Way to go, Pop.

Being bullied, being belittled, being yelled at, being called names—that’s just plain heartbreaking. Terrible. Painful. Humiliating.

And not just for little boys on the playground.

Words hurt.

Harsh ones are like tiny arrows of pure hate, belittlement, and disrespect that pierce you where you are most vulnerable and insecure. Their wounds never seem to miss their mark and you are left reeling with self-doubt and confusion. Hurting.

And there seems to be an epidemic of unnecessary malicious words carelessly being hurled around out there lately. Have you experienced them?

I have.

It hurts.

We have a new four-way stop down the street. One morning, I stopped, looked to make sure it was safe to proceed, and made my turn onto Buck Road. A pickup driving north on Buck Road, a vehicle I had seen coming down the road and assumed would stop at his stop sign, instead ran through it. Horn blaring, inches from my bumper, this angry driver leaned dangerously out his window and screamed every terrible profanity in his vocabulary, calling me every vile name he could think of. He presumed, apparently, that I had pulled out in front of him and that gave him the right to assault me with his words of rage.
I was shaken for days. I felt dirty and fearful.

Words hurt.

Not too many days later, purchasing a poster board, I set my purse on the counter and searched in its vast depths for some coins jingling around in the bottom. I love to give cashiers exact change. As I pulled up each coin, I set it down in front of me, calculating how much more I needed. Finally, I had the right amount and, with a smile, pushed the coins over to the cashier.

If looks could kill, I wouldn’t be writing this today. Daggers flew at me from her eyes…then from her mouth. Apparently, I was the rudest thing she had ever encountered—and a whole list of other evil things too. Why couldn’t I put that money in her hand? I shook my head in wonder when I looked around and realized she was actually talking to me. Tears filled my eyes and I stammered an apology of sorts. I felt like someone had punched me in my stomach. Her verbal attack left me feeling confused and filthy. And misunderstood.
Words hurt.

I’m wondering if I need to stop going into stores.

Maybe I just need to stop giving exact change.

Because this week, waiting in line to pay for a coffee, I once again set down my purse on the counter to get out the change I needed. I was next in line, and I thought I heard the twenty-something young man in front of me ask, “Do you need some space?” Foolish me. I assumed he was thoughtfully concerned because, where I stood, there was very little room for me and my purse as I searched for my coins.

I smiled up at him and told him I was fine, just trying to get my money out. He exploded, yelling at me with vile expletives. Didn’t I know that I was in HIS space? He then told me of a place I should be and precisely what kind of person I was as he extended his arms in my face, demonstrating the four or so feet of space he demanded. Shaken and hardly able to breathe, I practically crawled back to my car, tears running down my cheeks. I don’t remember drinking my coffee. My heart raced in my chest. My day was ruined.

Words hurt.

Wounded, offended, and confused, I have been considering exactly what my Father wants me to learn from all of this, how He wants me to respond in these helpless situations. Nothing He allows in my life is random or purposeless and I want to be teachable, to get what He wants me to get. What shall I do when attacked, accused, bullied, misunderstood, and disrespected by people I don’t know and people I do? When angry, unfair words hurt me?

Do I defend myself? Report my adversaries to superiors? Cry and feel helpless? Call them fat and ugly?

As usual, I read a short devotional from Max Lucado in Grace for the Moment that encouraged me in my ponderings.

Wounded by Words
     Someone you love or respect slams you to the floor with a slur or slip of the tongue. And there you lie, wounded and bleeding. Perhaps the words were intended to hurt you, perhaps not; but that doesn’t matter. The wound is deep. The injuries are internal. Broken heart, wounded pride, bruised feelings.

     If you have suffered or are suffering because of someone else’s words, you’ll be glad to know that there is a balm for this laceration. Meditate on these words from 1 Peter 2:23 (NIV).

“When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.”

     Did you see what Jesus did? He left the judging to God. He did not take on the task of seeking revenge. He demanded no apology. He, to the astounding contrary, spoke on their defense. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 12:34 NIV).

Jesus beautifully modeled what He expects from me as His follower. He expects me to forgive my offenders-friends or strangers-just like He did and His offenders were far worse than mine.

I need to allow God to take care of them. Not my job. And there is something so freeing in that. Releasing the pain and injustice into His capable, loving hands, offering forgiveness to those I probably will never see again…it is a cleansing, healing balm for my hurting heart.

I think Romans 12 is a useful guide for how to “live in harmony” with others, friends or strangers. Jesus declared that an important identifying characteristic for believers in Him is the love we have for each other (John 13:35). I think He would like that to extend even further than our brothers and sisters. While hurt, anger, and pride can easily derail us from loving as we should, from turning the other cheek, from giving the Spirit complete control of words and reactions, they stand in direct contrast to the love God wants us to show to others…and not just other believers.

It is a challenge not to defend ourselves and to control our emotions when we have been wronged, but the words, “As far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone” show us that the responsibility of living a life that reflects Christ’s character can’t be shifted to anyone else. It lies with each one of us who bear His name. (Cindy Hess Kasper, The Daily Bread)

Even when their words hurt us.

Especially when their words hurt us.

And even if they really are fat and ugly.