‘Blood is Thicker’ Packs a Hard Punch, too.

29 02 2016

When I was about 14 I was lucky enough to catch the fancy of a little cutie I met during our 8th grade yeaRock _nr of school. I walked her home several times after school and one day she invited me into her house. After a short greeting and “mother interrogation” we headed to the family room to talk and do a little hand holding. That is at least, until I heard this irritating little kid of a voice come cutting through the air. “Aww, I’m telling mom, I’m telling mom!” Enter the little brother, or his other title, “Bratzilla!” This 9-year-old pint size human siren wearing a baseball cap that I was sure was there to hide his horns, came screeching into the room announcing his intentions of letting the mother know about our “vile exploits”. “Jimmy, you better not!” my girlfriend shouted as she got up to chase him only to have him flee from the room leaving behind the echoes of his sinister laugh. She sat back down on the couch and broke into tears. “He’s always causing me trouble, telling things to get mom and dad upset. He makes me so angry!” she blurted through her tears, which in turn made me mad also. The next time the little escapee from the house of horrors stuck his head in the room proudly wearing his evil smile I blurted out, “Kid if you don’t get out of here I’m going to rip your head off!” “I’m telling mom! I’m telling mom!” rang out down the hallway as he ran off in search of the maternal enforcer. “You better leave, things might get bad if you don’t,” the girl told me. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school.” And she escorted me out through the garage. As I headed down the sidewalk toward home my mind was set on one subject, the demise of “Jimmy the Jackal!” “Mess up an opportunity for me to get my first kiss, will you?” I thought. “Your hind is mine!”

It was a few days later on a Saturday I decided to drop by. My girlfriend met me at the front door. “I can’t let you come in because my parents are gone, but we can sit in the backyard.” “Awesome,” and I headed around the house. It wasn’t long while we were sitting together in a swing that I made my move. Our lips had just met when I heard it, that screeching voice from the depths of you know where. “I’m telling mom! I’m telling mom!” The little devil didn’t have a chance to run I was up so quickly and had him in my grasp. Slamming him against the house he screamed out all the louder, but I didn’t care; revenge would be mine! With one hand clinching his shirt and the other around his neck I had just begun to speak when out of nowhere a hurricane landed on me.

“If you ever st–k” was all the further I got. The kicks, the punches, the hair pulling came in such rapid succession I thought for a second a gang of people was beating on me. But it was no gang, just one fire breathing, boiling mad, anger machine set to attack and destroy–his sister! “Leave him alone! Don’t you ever touch him again! Get out of here!” I hate you!” The confusion now going on in my head was making it spin, but I wasn’t about to stick around any longer to ask questions. She said go and as I use to put it, I slapped it in B for Boogie and was out of there. I looked back only once to see that she was now cuddling her little brother as I made my escape. Comforting the little brat that made her life miserable? Sheesh!

Now I suppose I could take this story a number of different directions as to some learning experience God wanted for me. But a good part of the reason I wrote this is, well I found it kind of funny (Now!) as my memory replayed that whole traumatic episode in my mind, and I started to chuckle. Hoping you did too when you read it. Embarrassing and sometimes confusing moments in life are there, I believe, to teach us something, to bring something worthwhile to our existence later, even if it’s just a smile or a laugh.

If I was to attribute anything to pass on, I suppose it would be something like this.

Perhaps the bratty brother had a good whooping coming for how he treated his older sister, but the fact remained that was her little brother and she still loved him and wasn’t about to let anything happen. It wasn’t about how he felt, it was about how she did; that was with a love that wouldn’t stop. Perhaps her brother learned that after that day.

In talking about God’s love and protection, John Owens puts it this way, “Did you never run for shelter in a storm, and find fruit which you expected not? Did you never go to God for safeguard, driven by outward storms, and there find unexpected fruit?”

I have a feeling little brother knew of his sister’s love and protection; just as we who call ourselves believers should know our Heavenly Father is there  for us to run to for protection, love.

Psalm 91:1, 2 – “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

By mutual agreement this “Traveler of the Rock Road” never went back over to the girl’s house. But a friend told me she invited him over sometime and like me was sure of getting his first kiss. With a smile I told him, “Well, if you do and her little brother causes you any guff, just give him a swift kick.”

I might tell you that story some day, but right now I think he’s still looking for me!
See ya next time.


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One response

29 02 2016
Beverly Crane

This one made me laughed. Another great story with a great message. Can’t wait for the next journey.

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