snakes and stones
9"Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? 10Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? 11If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?
If she complimented her father's sweater,
he'd say, "Here! Have it, don't be cold."
When her mother finally got that new car,
she told her, "I want you to drive it and enjoy it."
As they sat with sandwiches, if she walked through the room,
they'd say, "Sit, eat these, we will make another."
She grew up with only bread and fish
and sweaters and love.
So when she was older, she gave her own
sweaters and fish and bread willingly.
It was never a challenge to share.
It wasn't sacrifice to give.
It seemed like only good people bumped up
against her all her young life.
They always gave more than she needed
in hugs and understanding,
kindness and grace.
It often felt unfair to her that she
received good when so many others lacked.
It couldn't last, of course.
Maybe she was naive,
but she'd only received fish so long,
that she didn't even recognize the snake when it was handed to her.
To a person who would die before they'd
intentionally hurt someone,
a snake is just confusing at first.
When it bit, she assumed it was scared.
When it whispered lies,
she tried to decipher them and siphon off
the selfishness, attribute it to misunderstanding.
If she received malice, she adjusted her approach.
Perhaps she'd said something to cause the evil.
Perhaps she'd misinterpreted it.
Perhaps she was being sanctified, and
when she was less sinful, what looked like evil
would finally appear as a good gift from God as he had intended.
But that couldn't last either.
Sometimes you are handed a snake
and it is just a snake.
Not because god is angry with you or wants to shave off
your rough edges.
Some people will hand you bad,
force it on you,
fill your hands and pile it on your back
until you are carrying the twisted heavy insides of their own mind and heart.
But you will learn what she did: Discernment.
Sadness that discernment is crucial.
Disappointment that safety is so necessary in even the most intimate
relationships.
Weariness that her glasses have come off and she sees less rose-color around her,
and more snakes than she realized.
But vigilance that her children will watch for them,
and not open their soft pure palms to them.
Because now she knows, and unknowing isn't an option.