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From Morning Till Night They Make Fun Of Me

This morning I returned to the little storefront church to hear my friend preach. You could tell he was a bit nervous, this being his first time, but I think he did a good job. Much better than I would in the same situation. I was expecting him to preach on Acts, since that was where I left them two weeks ago, but for some reason he chose the third chapter of the Book of Lamentations.

Now, Lamentations, like Job, is not an "easy" book. If you are looking for "Chicken Soup" you will not find it here. Basically, Lamentations are a series of poems traditionally said to be written by the prophet Jeremiah that describe the destruction of Jerusalem in 586 BCE, and they're pretty graphic. All you need to do is take a look at the images of a ruined and struggling Japan and you get the picture. Now, according to the Bible all this happened because the people didn't heed the prophets' call to repentance. I have some problems with this kind of thinking which I won't go into now.

My friend said there are times when bad things happen because God is trying to send a message/punish and then there are times when bad things happen randomly. Nevertheless God is in control.? and when the bad times come that means we must turn to Him. We must wait on Him no matter how long it takes. He reminded the congregation that the saying God helps those who help themselves is not in the Bible. Ralph used to say that too in the fellowship I attended. Well, it may not be in the Bible, but I never heard of anyone improving their position in life by just sitting back and waiting on the Lord. Not to be blasphemous here, but it seems like the Lord has different priorities and you can wait a long long time for help that may or may not come. And (if I understood him correctly) if you are not a Christian you might as well not waste your time, because God will not listen. But as verses 31-33 say, God is a loving God who really doesn't want to do all this bad stuff but He has to for our own good. I have a little problem with that, too.

But there was one part that I had absolutely no problem understanding, and that was verses 61-63. "You have heard them insult me, O Lord, you know all their plots. All day long they talk about me and make their plans. From morning to night they make fun of me." We on the spectrum know about this all too well. It doesn't matter if you are religious or not, in a public school or a faith-based one, this is our reality. EVERY SINGLE DAY. "Wait upon the Lord." Yeah, right. It was not the Lord who delivered me, it was time. No matter how hard I prayed, it did not stop. No one stepped in. None.

Apparently the author had also experienced that, for he ends his poem with this wish:
"Punish them for what they have done, O Lord. Curse them and fill them with despair. Hunt them down and wipe them off the earth!" How many of us could nod our heads in agreement with that prayer? How many of us have prayed a version of that down in the dark night of our souls, underneath the wave of despair (as one person on this forum so eloquently put it)? Only those who have been there know what it is like. Which is why we have a hard time relating to "Chicken Soup" platitudes. Lamentations is for all of us, not just Christians or Jews. We've been there and we know.

Comments

I can definitely relate to what you're talking about. During the period of my childhood where the bullying was the worst (from about ages 12-14), I felt like the other kids at school surely all got together for meetings on the weekend just to plan ways to make my life miserable. I didn't get the AS diagnosis until I was well into my adult years (the only way in which I had been labelled as being "different" was a diagnosis for Attention Deficit Disorder, which really meant nothing to me at the time), but their "radar" for identifying the kids who are "different" in some way and therefore the "prey animals" on the playground was in good working order. I can vaguely remember telling my mother that I consoled myself a little by telling myself that they would all be in jail or hell someday (thankfully, I managed to not get caught saying anything that could be interpreted as a serious threat during school hours). I know today that (with one or two possible exceptions), the kids who bullied me probably aren't likely to have done much jail time as adults, and I no longer believe in eternal punishment (despite the best efforts of my fundamentalist grandmother [now deceased] who occasionally managed to scare me into thinking that I was in danger of burning in the "lake of fire"), but I'm not sure that I've ever totally let go of being consoled by the idea that bad things would happen to those kids someday. When I was about 25 or so, I heard that someone who was (somewhat peripherally) part of that group of bullies had been killed in a car accident, and I remember being not quite sure how to feel about that. I certainly didn't feel like celebrating, but I don't think I can honestly say that, somewhere deep down, I didn't feel the tiniest little secret satisfaction because of it. I know that sounds rather cold-blooded (especially since we're talking about someone who was a relatively minor bully in the scheme of things), and it troubles me a little to think about that now, but I can't help but think that this is as a sign of the damage that the kind of bullying that AS children are vulnerable to can leave, even years later.
 
Why is it that you and I, and the kids whose radar is in good working order, have no trouble whatsoever distinguishing what is normal and what is different, but supposedly intelligent people (many with Ph.D.'s) do? I do not know how many times I have been told by people who really ought to know better that there is no such thing as "normal". I even asked that of one counselor who told me that. He had no answer.

Anyway, another thing I was told is that this sort of thing only leaves scars "if you allow it to." It doesn't matter what your experiences are, you have the power to choose to be emotionally healthy. So if you don't that just proves you are one of the weak. I have a suspicion that this philosophy is one of the reasons society looks the other way when it comes to bullying. Bullies are the enforcers, doing the work decent people don't want to dirty their hands with.

And I know exactly how you feel. A few years ago, after returning from a doctor visit in which he coldly announced that the lump I found could be cancer and walked out of the room, I got a phone call from an adolescent girl. "Retard, retard, you're a retard," she sang out and hung up before I could identify the voice. I do have some ideas of who it might be (it was definitely NOT a random call), and if it is who I think it is, I do hope she is enjoying her little moment of triumph, because that is all she is ever going to have in this life. Sadly, I suspect she has forgotten it. Pity, because I don't need a crystal ball to see her future--uneducated, unskilled, poor health, no money . . . Anyway, let's just say that God and I had a little talk that night about that phone call in which I told Him in NO uncertain terms what He could do with it, seeing as He is the one supposedly in control.
 

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