Velcro Redemption

Confession: when I was six years old, I did not know how to tie my shoes.  I was the only first grader in my class who couldn’t do it. My parents had no problem with it. In fact, every time this story comes up in my family, Mom smiles confidently, “We knew you would learn on your own time. We didn’t want you to feel pressured if you weren’t ready”.  My big sister didn’t have a problem with it, either. She would sit with me, sometimes for an hour or more, practicing the “Bunny Method”. She’s so patient. My teacher, however, was appalled. At my quaint southern Christian school, that just wasn’t acceptable. There were standards, after all. So, for some reason, she took it upon herself to inflict utter humiliation on me every time I requested she tie my shoe. She would take me aside and firmly scold me, saying things like, “Didn’t you go home and practice last night?” or “Why haven’t your parents taught you this yet?”. Mind you, it wasn’t that my parents had not gone over shoe tying basics with me; it was that I did not feel ready. And I did practice, a lot actually. Frustration came easily, though, when I couldn’t get it right on the first try. So, I resolved to practice persistently until it came naturally. Until then, though, I needed help. This was not my teacher’s favorite job. One day she even called on another student (one of her favorites) to tie my shoe, so I could learn from her example. Well, if you know me, you know that did not go over very well. Although, instead of snapping at her, like I could envision myself doing now(though, as per usual, my  grandeur visions of “talking back” are usually stumped when I am left pathetically speechless in the moment—definitely by God’s design) , I merely sat on the outside steps brokenhearted because I was an outcast.  While all of my peers were running around in their laced, neatly tied shoes, I sat on the front steps crying. In that moment, as the tears streaked my face, I believed I was not good enough. And because of that lie, I vowed never to fail. I promised myself that I would never again let myself experience humiliation. I realize those are some raw thoughts for a six-year old to have, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I don’t take pride in feeling that way, but I don’t claim the creation of those thoughts, either. I know they weren’t from the Lord; they were from the enemy of my soul. And now, viola’! Here I am, 16 years later having never experienced embarrassment or pain again! Ha…WRONG. Very wrong. Because of the vow that I made, I struggle to accept help from others, I desire to be in control, and I fight to believe that I am not a failure. Thankfully, the story doesn’t end here. 

O Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is plentiful redemption!- Psalm 130:7

If I insert my name up there, it would read something like this: Oh Susanna, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is plentiful redemption...

Because…

The Lord your God is with you,
    the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
    in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
    but will rejoice over you with singing.– Zeph. 3:17

REDEMPTION. Because of Christ within me, I am not a failure. He rejoices over me-his uniquely molded creation, made in his image. He does not rebuke me for who I was, he sings over me for who I am in Christ! There is no humiliation in this love; there is HOPE and abounding delight!

After much prayer, and many days of picking up a tearful little girl, my parents decided to  homeschool me. But before that started, my Father did something wonderful: He took me to the Payless to buy some “cool” (my Mom’s words) Velcro closed-toed shoes. They wanted me to see the semester through Christmas, but they gave me some magic Velcro shoes to make the remainder of the year bearable. I remember running freely into Daddy’s arms with a huge grin on my face and some nifty Velcro shoes in hand. My Dad was smiling, too. At the end of the year, Mom and Dad met with the teacher to explain their choice to remove me.  She seemed to take it offensively, I think, but my parents acted only in gentleness towards her. My point is: because of the memory of feeling ashamed, I chose only to remember who I was then and to live out of the lies made that day. I didn’t think about redemption. The Lord purposefully placed me with parents who encouraged, loved and rejoiced over me because he wanted them to mirror his love. And they did. They still do, actually. Naturally, the pain of that memory still exists, but remembering the redemption dissolves the shame and I am able to run joyfully into my Heavenly Father’s arms knowing that I am enough because He is enough.  Remembering redemption: I’m discovering that’s what it means to authentically see what Christ sees when he looks at me. No shame, no rebuke…just deep, pure delight.