Rethinking Gifts VI

The Greek hero Perseus was sent into exile as a child by his fearful grandfather who was told by an oracle that his grandson would one day bring an end to his rule. He and his mother Danae were locked in a wooden chest and set adrift on the sea until one day they landed on the shores of the island of Seriphos. The young hero grew up on this island with no real idea of his place in the world. He was lost. He doubted himself and his ability to face the serious challenges of life.

One day, the king of the island, Polydectes, demanded tribute from Perseus and his mother, a tribute that neither could afford to pay. Perseus pleaded with the king, saying that he had nothing to offer but his service. The king, seizing the opportunity, assigned to Perseus what seemed to be an impossible task: he wanted the head of the fearsome Gorgon Medusa. The Gorgons were creatures, loathed by gods and men, whose hair was comprised of venomous snakes. They possessed the chilling ability to turn those that gazed upon her hideous faces into stone.

Perseus was faced with a challenge that tested the strength of his resolve. Was he up to the challenge? Imagine the thoughts that might have gone through his mind at the time. “This is too big for me. I will fail if I try. She’ll turn me to stone like all the rest!” That is the critical moment when the goddess Athena entered the story. She too followed the mythical pattern we have described previously. Perseus encountered Athena—or perhaps we should say, Athena arranged for the meeting. She counseled the young Perseus, encouraging him with her words.

Demonstrating her faith in the young hero in a way that was very concrete, Athena gave him her very own shield, a reflective shield that would allow him to see Medusa without gazing directly at her. She further directed him where to acquire the other tools he would need to complete his quest, including a sword, a helmet of invisibility, winged sandals, and a magical bag. The young hero went forth, knowing that a goddess believed that there was something in him that was capable of accomplishing great deeds. He also carried with him the physical representation of Athena’s belief in him, the shield, sword, and other implements necessary to achieve his goal.

Rethinking Brokenness

Awareness of the journey often begins when we are in a broken condition, when things are not going our way. Those broken times in our lives occur for just that purpose. They are a wake-up call. When a young person is faced with a painful trial, he is also faced with a choice—a choice between hope and despair. If he chooses despair, he will take one step further along the descending path of cynicism, unhealthy relationships, hesitation, and fear. If he chooses hope, he must acknowledge that there is something greater, that the story of his life has yet to fully unfold. This will take courage, no doubt about it, but as Goethe said, “Be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid.”

Rethinking Darcy

A few years ago, I had a thirteen-year-old student named Darcy. Darcy had faced a great deal of hardship in her young life. Her father wasn’t in the picture at all, and her mother worked three jobs just to make ends meet. Because her mother was never home, Darcy was essentially both mother and father to her two brothers, but her older brother had physically abused her, and her younger brother, though she loved him, needed more than she had to give. She had managed to get herself into quite a bit of trouble in school, by way of fights, shouting matches with teachers, and outbursts. Most likely, she had begun to agree with the voices that told her that she needed to be “tough” to survive, not to “take any crap” from anybody.

One day, I noticed tears streaming down Darcy’s face, and I approached her in the hallway in between classes to see if I could help. As Darcy stood by her locker weeping, I handed her a tissue and asked how things were going. Her eyes said it all. Apparently, Children and Youth Services had already contacted her mother, saying that if Darcy got into any more trouble at school, they would remove her from her home and place her with foster parents. And just that morning she had managed to get into an argument with another girl on the bus, and the girl had gone to the principal’s office and turned Darcy in for harassment.

As she tearfully told me what had happened, I suggested that she go down to the office and tell her side of the story to the principal. It was then that she said, “Mr. D, it won’t do any good. I’m the bad kid. Everybody in the school knows I’m the bad kid.” In other words, she had absorbed the message of the voices: “You’re a bad person.”

What the school community didn’t know about Darcy, and what Darcy probably didn’t even remember about herself, was that a week earlier, she had publicly complimented another student in my classroom. Jen, the student she had complimented, happened to be very shy and awkward. After Jen had given a presentation in front of the other students, I asked if anyone had any questions or comments. Darcy immediately thrust her hand into the air. “I think Jen did a great job! It was an interesting report.” I could immediately tell that Jen was beaming on the inside upon hearing those encouraging words from Darcy.

Sensing the despair that Darcy was now feeling, I was faced with a choice. Would I simply pat her on the back and say, “Well, I’m sure everything will work out”? Or would I fight on her behalf? I chose to fight. I challenged the voice that had been labeling her “the bad kid.” I immediately reminded her of the encouragement she had given Jen in the classroom, and what that meant to Jen. At this, she smiled a little. As adults, we must understand how powerful our words are. With our words, we have the power to both hurt and heal. I said, “You see, Darcy, there really is something good and alive inside you.”

I didn’t stop there. Through the use of a story she had probably heard over and over since she was a little girl, I made an appeal to Darcy’s heart. I asked her if she was familiar with the tale of Cinderella. She was indeed. I went on to compare her life now—being forced into a position where she was essentially the caretaker for her brothers and her house—to that of Cinderella, who was forced to scrub and clean by a wicked stepmother and stepsisters. Remember, in the beginning of that story, Cinderella was viewed as a worthless ragamuffin by those around her, and her self-esteem, too, was nonexistent. Like Cinderella, what Darcy probably didn’t realize was that the way people viewed her was not even close to who she really was. It took someone else—her Fairy Godmother—to help Cinderella see who she really was beyond the rags.

When I spoke these words to Darcy, I noticed an ever so slight change in her demeanor. Hope, perhaps? Maybe she saw a little bit of her own story in the medieval tale of Cinderella. My hope is that maybe the thought crossed her mind that she, too, could rise above the opinions and condemnation of others. Stories help the truth sink down into the heart, past the filters of the head.

Rethinking the Enemy II

When a discouraging situation occurs, there is always a choice to be made. Look at your own life. When something bad transpires, what happens next? A subtle voice speaking in your mind delivers a disparaging message—a fiery dart aimed right at your heart—suggesting:

• “That kind of thing always happens to me!”
• “I’m such an idiot!”
• “I just have bad luck.”
• “People will only like you if you look your best.”
• “Your friends are eventually going to leave you.”
• “I can never get it right.”
• “I am a bad person.”
• “Things will never change.”

For the purposes of this blog, we will refer to this “voice” as the villain in our story. We face an enemy in our lives, an enemy that is relentless and devious. You see, when we hear the voice of our adversary, in a split second, we have a decision to make. Notice how beguiling this is! Are you going to agree with the negative statement or not? We so often end up agreeing with these slanderous assaults against our character and our heart, though we are totally unaware that we are doing so.

When we end up depressed, fearful of certain situations, or cynical about life, we are left wondering how we got there. Just like any myth, fairy tale, or movie, the villain in our story is relentless, yet surprisingly subtle in its efforts to prevent us from realizing who we really are.