Hurt People Hurt People

I was first introduced to this phrase only maybe two or three years ago: Hurt (adj.) People (noun) Hurt (verb) People (noun). It's a concept that makes a lot of sense to me, but never really sank in until much later. Hurt has fueled many bad decisions in my life and I can still remember how the embers of my resentment burned in my chest as I followed paths I knew were not healthy. While, on the surface, my life may never have looked all that wayward or out-of-control, I indulged in patterns of mental and emotional self-destruction that have done nothing but feed the ravenous cancer in my soul.

Only a small spark is needed to consume a field of grass that has been deprived of water. It actually happens all the time during our scorching Central Valley summer. When the Clifton family drives from Modesto to Santa Cruz every summer, towing our white and green Jayco tent trailer and prepared for our quasi-camping vacation; we see that between the small towns, farmland, and orchards, grassy expanses are nearly checkerboarded with alternating shades of gold and charcoal. The barely smoldering ashes of a lit cigarette need only briefly visit one or two blades of grass in order to introduce utter destruction to an otherwise harmonious colony of dehydrated dicots.

Our camping trips are never complete without campfires. I see now that the reason "Don't play with fire" ever became a phrase is because playing with fire is really freaking fun. One of the most amazing things I've witnessed in my years of putting things in fires that shouldn't be put into fires is what happens when a container of water is placed among the flames. I love to take a Styrofoam cup that's filled with water and nestle it among hottest pieces of wood. Normally, Styrofoam melts and shrivels - and then releases toxic chemicals into the atmosphere - as it burns. But as the flames lick the sides of the water-filled vessel, all of the cup melts except only the parts of the cup that hold the water in one place. The cup is soon entirely incinerated directly above the waterline, but completely intact below.

Even as the bonfire gradually overcomes the drastically higher heat capacity of the water, bringing it to a boil, the portion of cup in contact with the water remains completely intact.  I love this because, until the water is spilled from the cup or boils away, the cup will hold its form. The maximum temperature of liquid water is well below the minimum temperature required to melt the cup. It would take a particularly intense flame to overcome the heavy influence the water has over the temperature of its surrounding material.

Maybe this brings new light to Jesus's declaration that He is the living water. Because Christ's power possesses greater influence than the fire that fills our world, to be filled by Him means that we cannot be consumed by the flames. Unfortunately, we Christians do not always choose to be filled by Him, so we combust and the destruction continues to spread. Our susceptibility to injury is not evidence of God's insufficiency, but of our failure to always allow his presence in our lives. That is why we burn and others are burned by us.

Honestly, the reason I started writing this article (which is long before the actual post date, by the way) is because I've been burned enough to see what the absence of Jesus allows to happen when I meet emotional hardship. And I have enough experience by now to recognize a correlation between being hurt while I'm close to God and being hurt when I'm not. A relationship with God doesn't ward off suffering and it doesn't even prevent injury, but it does allow us a way to avoid being consumed by our trials by being consumed by God. And by doing that, we avert many opportunities to be a source of destruction in the lives of others.

So what am I saying? I know I went pretty far with this grass and water metaphor and maybe it's just too much. If you're reading this and really aren't into this "God" thing, I understand why this would probably sound pretty weird. There's quite a bit of "churchy" language in here, so I apologize. While I'm sharing with my fellow Christians what I'm being reminded myself - that being more deliberate in your faith makes a difference in the quality of your life, I don't want to talk over the heads of those who don't share my beliefs. Obviously, you don't have to read this, but I thank you if you have.

Talking to God is not like getting married. You don't have to start calling yourself a Christian just because you're giving prayer a try or are cracking the Bible open every now and then. You don't even have to tell anyone that you're doing that. It can be your "dirty little secret." Just talk to God. Supposing God exists, say what you would say to him and just be honest, no matter how ugly your complaints may be. I make no promises on what you'll experience, but I know that God will not turn a deaf ear on anyone who has something to say to Him. And I simply don't believe anyone should go through their whole life without at least once trying to talk to God when there's at least a vague possibility that He's real and wants people to speak to Him.

The truth is that Christianity is a lot of things that people say it's not and it's not a lot of things that people say it is. There are a LOT of nutcase Christians out there and a good deal of them command a powerful global influence (in other words, they're famous). So be careful who you believe. If God doesn't seem like an appealing concept, you may have heard too many ideas about God from people who don't have the facts straight.

But I'm going to quit evangelizing for now. I will conclude this post by saying that while I have never sensed God with my five senses, I have experienced the effects of God in my life day-after-day. And believe it or not, I like my life is much better when I'm deliberate in maintaining my relationship with God. It is a way of life that I have found better than what we're used to and I recommend it. The end!