Seriously?

Last night, I caught a glimpse of this video. The video shows students on a bus. Average, we can all relate to riding the bus. When a male student sits down in what appears to be the only empty seat, the student he sits with apparently doesn't want him sitting there. A few seconds go by and then all of the sudden, there's an angry student punching the other kid. Punching and punching and punching... the kid getting punched doesn't appear to even try to defend himself. Once that attack ends, another student comes along and starts punching this kid-AGAIN. So this young man is attacked not once but twice.

All the while, on a bus full of students, they just sit and watch. A couple "good intentioned" students attempt (barely) to restrain the boys doing the punching. But most of the students watch- laughing, or scared- their faces show different things. Finally, a young man rises from the back and steps to the defense of the young man being punched.

While the video really left me unsettled, it resonated in me. I guess there have been times in my life where I can really relate to the guy getting punched.

Minding his own business, the guy next to him punches him. REPEATEDLY.
NO ONE HELPS!
Instead, the crowd cheers, laughs, gasps in awe... NO ONE HELPS!
Then, when hitter #1 is done pounding on the kid... enter hitter #2.
NO ON HELPS!
Oh wait, here comes a guys and seems to "care".
Finally, someone gets these guys to stop punching.

WOWSER! I have felt like punches have flown out of no where and landed square on my jaw. I've felt they come unprovoked and randomly. And they come, one after the other- I'm defenseless. The punches keep coming and the crowd on the bus does nothing. Oh but wait, they send along another angry hitter to throw a few more blows. Heartbreaking!

I feel for this kid. I feel for all those kids on that bus, in fact.

1.) No one deserves to be attacked.
2.) No one has the right to attack.
3.) Why didn't more students step up when they knew what was going on was wrong?
4.) Did they even recognize this as wrong?

In life, this happens all the time. You may not be physically punching someone, but your words hit hard and your actions leave a mark. You may not be doing the hitting, but are you watching? Are you allowing the hitting to continue? And is it really okay to just watch- even if you justify it as "I don't want to get involved"?

My heart goes out to the boy. I'm guessing he's not "Mr. Popular". But that's not the point. NO ONE DESERVES TO BE TREATED LIKE THAT.

NO ONE. Period.

I hear the boys got suspended. I'm thinking they many need a little more punishment than that.

I know that in this life, I am not defenseless. It feels like it some days, but I'm not alone. When the punches fly with ferocity and fists pound on my cheeks and blows take my breath away and knock me down, I figure there's a way to land on my feet again.

It just takes time.


Zephaniah 3:16-18 God Is Present Among You

"Don't be afraid.
Dear Melissa, The LORD your God is with you,
He is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.
God's Promise."

Just one of THOSE days

Jamie landed in an red ant nest and picked up 23 red ant bites... Sam had the insane assignment to create 13 impossible tongue twisters using words like wasn't and aren't... Precious Abby, who was in bed, but awoke with a serious case of hiccups, found a pencil and stabbed herself in the leg... oh and and Jeff is at a one of "those" church board meetings...

I'm in one of those places where I think my head could quite possibly explode. Trying to trust the plan, trying to trust there is a plan, and trying not to shut my eyes for fear that I'll miss the plan. Does that make sense?

I just found out last week that my boss of 4 years is leaving. While I'm happy for him as he moves on to his greener pastures, my pasture looks pretty brown if you know what I mean. I know I shouldn't worry, but hey, I'm only human.

Jeff's job... well, I won't go into that here. I'm still trying to understand and trust the Master's plan.

I'm typing here in the living room watching my precous baby play with a baby doll and soccer ball. She's beautiful, she's happy- even though she has a small red spot where she recently stabbed herself with that pencil- she's happy.

I want her happiness. I want her obliviousness. (If that's a word?) I want to find pleasure in the simplest of things. I want to smile and really be happy despite the hiccups and the wound.

Thank You for the moments where I am happy. Thank You for the little things that do bring me joy. While the big bad things in life will always exist and while troubles will come and go, thank You for the pure joy that does exist in my life.

While Jamie sat with frozen peas on his ant bites, I apologized to my big blue eyed boy because in my weakness, I yelled at him for getting into the ants. Sam and I create absurd tongue twisters like "Aren't you going to the mart to buy tart art?" and "Fuzzy wasn't fuzzy was he?" Abby did sleep briefly and all was peaceful momentarily. Thank You for the peace in the raging storm.

I think there is some neapolitan ice cream calling my name in the freezer. Maybe I'll go see what it wants... Don't judge me, just whisper a little prayer for sanity... and that all will soon be quiet on the Wilson front.

Published... well kinda sorta

I wrote this back in July following a difficult life experience. I submitted it last month to an online magazine and they posted it. Thought I'd share it if you'd like to read it:

Curled Up With Jesus

I spent the day curled up in the lap of Jesus. As I listened to the steady cadence of his heartbeat, and the soothing rhythm of his chest rising and falling with each breath he took- I found the comfort I was desperate for. I’ve never been so close to him before and for that I am very ashamed. Of course, the reason that led me to the lap of Jesus leaves me ashamed as well. I ran there. I ran away from a problem that was so huge, there was nowhere else to go and I found myself wishing that I’d run there every day in either my happiness or my sadness.

I’m sitting at the feet of Jesus now. I’m listening to him speak—I seem so small here, yet significant. His left hand rests lightly on my head and I can feel his electricity full of love and compassion. He’s smiling at me, tears in his eyes. I am mesmerized by his face. The sound of his voice is as calming as the aroma cookies baking in the oven. The sound of his voice drifts in and out of my head, steadying my heart. His tears sparkle in the corner of his eyes and occasionally one runs down his cheek. He is happy that I’m here. He’s been waiting a long time for me.

I sense that there is so much he wants to say to me. His words, however, are not rushed and they are gentle. He stops speaking audibly and there is a beautiful silence that I recognize from my youth. When I close my eyes, I am standing outside in the woods behind my childhood home and there isn’t a soul around. The wind is gliding through the leaves, rustling them slightly. The sun has peaked through the tallest trees, hitting every other leaf on its way down to me. I’m overwhelmed as it seems as if the trees and rocks and the wind, the stream even… they all speak in their own way. I breathe deeply, inhaling the life that surrounds. Aware of my dream, I open my eyes again and I look at him curiously. I know what he’s saying, yet his mouth isn’t moving and no sound is coming from him. As I look into his eyes, I know what he wants me to know. Pleasant and frightening at the same time. He has always been with me, he has always spoken to me—somehow I lost my way.

We’re audibly talking again. As he speaks, he moves his hands. I talk with my hands, too, but this is different. My eyes fall on the wounds—I can see them and all of the sudden I am overcome with guilt and shame as I’m fully aware that those are my wounds. What have I done? Why am I here? I don’t deserve to be this close. The pain that led me here pales horribly in comparison to his pain. I begin to weep. Sobbing. Deep, guttural sounds that frighten me even though I know they are coming from within me. I am so unworthy.

But something really beautiful is happening now. He’s picking me up. He lifts me to his chest like a father lifts his injured child. Yet he does it with such ease and strength. His left arm is behind my back and his right arm under my legs as my limbs fall heavily over his arm. My head falls against his chest and I’m still sobbing. I can’t hold my head up. He cradles me and I feel like a small child. The electricity is palpable and then I hear it…

He begins to sing to me. It’s the most beautiful song I have ever heard. I am completely broken in the arms of Jesus and he’s singing over me. His warm tears have rolled from his beautiful face, landed on my face, and mingled with my tears. They fall one by one. With each note he sings and with each tear that falls, peace slowly begins to surround my brokenness. There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be. I’m safe here. I’m loved here. I’m forgiven here. I don’t want to leave.

Copyright ©  2009 Melissa Meador Wilson