All I remember of my thirteenth year is isolation and teeth-gnashing frustration. In my young mind I was spiritually mature beyond my years. My social and emotional struggles were an obvious parallel to what Jesus experienced in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Alas, this wasn’t true.
The seeds of that year were planted far in advance by Saturday morning cartoons and flannel graph Jesus dolls. Each week I’d grab a bowl of cereal, and watch as some two-dimensional character struggled with a moral decision on the television set. Two spirits would show up to perch on his shoulders: the tough devil belching baritone, and the weak-kneed angel with long lashes and no spine. You probably remember, or can guess, who won those fights. Then Sunday I’d wash behind my ears, put on some shiny shoes and go to church, where I’d learn about “Gentle Jesus Meek and Mild” and turning the other cheek.
Somewhere along the line I learned more about being a pansy than anything else- a lesson that didn’t serve me well when my brother introduced me to the game of ‘Two for Flinching’. Most of my male readers will probably know how to play, but for anyone that doesn’t it goes like this: You hit somebody, and then pretend like you’re going to hit them again. If they flinch you get to hit them twice. It’s a great contest and easy to win, because if the person doesn’t flinch you hit them again anyway.
I don’t think I lost all those bouts of TFF because of my steadfast integrity. Moral courage couldn’t have condoned the injustice. I lost because I was afraid.
The devil has his version of TFF. It’s called ‘Hide for Shaming’. It’s a simple game too. He tempts you to sin and then ~SLAP~ he gives you the backhand of shame! He keeps you playing through fear, embarrassment and self-loathing.
I didn’t care if I ever won ‘Two for Flinching’. I just wanted the game to stop. I was humiliated and beat down. My parents said to just walk away, but my brother had legs too and simply hounded me.
Then one day I hit back. Things gradually changed after that.
Are you tired of playing the devil’s little shame game? Then it’s time to hit him where it counts. Kick him in his tender little brimstones. It’ll take a little courage, but there’s grace for that.
Use the boots of Confession and Repentance.
