I was reading a new book on a bed, neither of which were mine. I’d stolen Chloe’s kindle — her kindle is every book lover’s DREAM. She’d been raving about Bob Goff’s newest book, Everybody, Always, and I had to experience it for myself. Thus, the kleptomania.
Before lunch I had started and finished the entire thing. It was pretty much the most welcomed and needed gut punch to my ego. I was partly struck with how exciting life is for Bob Goff, between having an office in Disneyland and flying planes through ice caverns. But then I was more struck by how exciting the gospel message is for him, to love everybody, and love them always. Personally I would like to love who I want, when I want.
After finishing the book I spent a bit of time contemplating how to apply it. I was praying for an inexhaustible heart and exciting opportunities to love, when some kids outside interrupted my thoughts. I initially passed over them because we didn’t have anything scheduled for the kids that day. The previous two afternoons our team had put on a children’s program, but there was no plan to do it a third day. And yet the kids showed up anyway. I sat looking out the open window, ignoring the children and getting lost in the fuzzy area between thoughts and prayers.
I was drawn back to the kids a few moments later, who were sitting on logs and bamboo mats, whispering and waiting. Waiting for us. Waiting for the Americans who entertained and hugged and played. The Christians who loved freely. I jumped out of Chloe’s bed and ran downstairs, seeing my first practical application of the book. Yay!
I got outside and made an absolute fool of myself, since language barriers lead to ridiculousness like animal noises and grass fights. But then this one kid caught my eye, and not for a good reason. He was shoving the other kids aside to be the center of attention. He yelled in Nepali whenever someone else got in his way, and the rest of them visibly shrank as if he had a record of hitting them. I guess sadly schoolyard bullies aren’t just an American thing.
I could feel my blood pressure rise. Curse you, limbic system. I hate bullies maybe more than anything in the world. The type of people who consciously manipulate, exploit, or even create weakness in another human being simply for his or her gain… nothing rials me up more.
Growing up my brother got bullied badly in elementary school through some of high school. And if you don’t know me, my brother is my favorite person in the world. No one messes with him, or any of my safe people, and keeps all 5’3″ of me from getting involved. I still call Collin my baby brother, not because I don’t see that he’s 21 and definitely the superior Jenkins child, but because I want to protect him from all evil.
The bully obviously didn’t know any of my history with bully throw-downs. He’s simply a boy succumbing to the human desire to be seen and loved, and has learned the best means to that end is ensuring no one else is seen or loved. So when I reared up to protect the underdogs, I felt my anger be drained and replaced by humility as fear flickered across his face. Just so you know, I wasn’t going to hurt him, but I was definitely going to yell. And they were not going to be gospel words. They might’ve been words laced with the kind Paul used in Romans (“by no means” is the cleanly translated version….), but they were far from loving.
In his face I felt the tension that gospel love brings with it. The tension of laying aside one’s preferences and perspectives to see and understand another. It’s not natural; we’re wired for survival by whatever means necessary. But our faith system is based around bypassing personal survival for the betterment of someone else. It’s cliche these days, but the kind of love Jesus offered was revolutionarily unconditional. There were no terms, no ends, no fine print, no assembly required.
Now, we both know bullying is not part of the gospel. But I really just felt that Jesus would have actively loved this bully. Jesus would have held him and given him the attention he was fighting for, showing this child that he’s seen and worthy of love. Because that’s what we’re all really doing anyway, ultimately searching for attention and worth and love.
So, I grabbed the bully and held him and tickled him, laughing alongside him and the kids around us. Love and laughter are contagious like that. When I finally let him go, he walked to the back of the group, and I grabbed the next closest child and tickled him. It turned into a wild game of tag, where all of us were running and laughing and loving, and mutually seen and loved by each other and our Father.
Kingdom love is for the bullies, the racists, the gays, the misfits, the untouchables; kingdom love is an equalizer.
