Debora Coty is an inspirational speaker, columnist and award-winning author of 200+ articles and over 40 books, including the bestselling Too Blessed to be Stressed series, with over 1.3 million copies sold in multiple languages worldwide. A retired orthopedic occupational therapist, Debora enjoys teaching piano, mountain hiking, choco-scarfing and smacking a little yellow ball around a tennis court. Debora lives, loves and laughs in central Florida with her longsuffering husband of 42 years and five feisty grandpals who live nearby. Deb would love to have you join her fun-loving community of BBFs (Blessed Friends Forever) at www.DeboraCoty.com.
I was six years old and in big trouble. I’d done something horrible.
It happened at the house of Diana, my nine-year-old neighbor, a tall, gentle girl who was kinder to me than all the other big kids.
A bunch of us were playing in Diana’s room when gravel crunching in the driveway announced the arrival of Diana’s father, a grizzly bear of a man – towering and burly, with a deep military voice. He was very strict and often barked orders to Diana and her little brothers, who knew they had better obey immediately.
We all knew.
When he drove up that day, everyone suddenly remembered a reason to go home.
I saw the sad look on Diana’s face as the other kids fled, so I stayed.
After tiring of board games, Diana picked up her baton and suggested we go outside to twirl; a hard-and-fast rule allowed no batons or balls inside the house. I grabbed my baton and couldn’t resist trying to impress Diana by whirling it around my neck.
The sound of shattering glass froze my heart as Diana’s bedside lamp crashed to the floor. Then the huge shadow of Diana’s father filled the doorway.
Diana intentionally stepped between her father and me as his face turned crimson and a large vein on his forehead began to pulsate. “Who’s responsible for this?” his voice boomed as he eyed the shards of ruined lamp on the floor.
Immobilized by fear, I stared mutely at the mess, unable to breathe.
Diana held up her baton and answered, “It’s my fault, Daddy.” She gently pushed me into the hallway and closed the door behind me.
I listened outside the door, quivering, as Diana’s dad shouted about rules, learning responsibility, and paying for a new lamp with her own money.
When I heard things escalating, I couldn’t take any more. I blindly ran, not stopping until I was in my own room, sobbing on my bed. I knew Diana was at that moment receiving the worst kind of punishment in my place. I deserved that belt, but she willingly took the pain for me.
I had to do something. I shook my piggy bank and gathered the handful of coins that fell out. Still weeping as I ran, I stumbled back to Diana’s front door.
Diana answered my knock with red, puffy eyes. Yet she smiled. I was forgiven. It made my heart hurt.
I held out my pitiful offering, knowing it wouldn’t be nearly enough to pay for the lamp. But Diana shook her head.
“No,” she said softly. “Keep your money. It was an accident. It’s all over now, so let’s not talk about it anymore.”
And we didn’t. Not that day. Not ever.
But I’ve never forgotten. Even now, decades later, a warm tear escapes when I think about Diana’s lamp. My friend willingly sacrificed herself on my behalf through every lash of that belt.
I realize now that in her selfless actions, Diana exemplified what Jesus did for me – and for you. He sacrificed Himself in our place, accepting our rightful punishment and loving us through every lash of the whip and pounding of nails into His flesh.
Even unto death.
How, then, can we not be moved when we consider the Sacrificial Lamb suffering so that we might have life everlasting?
“He was beaten that we might have peace; he was lashed – and we were healed!” (Isaiah 53:5
But he was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins.He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed.
OPEN VERSE IN BIBLE (nlt)
TLB)
In my role as the preschool Bible Story Lady at church one Sunday, I told the story of Jonah and the big fish to the four-year-olds.
The hard part wasn’t bringing the bit about Jonah deliberately running away from God down to the level of little people who still get their fannies smacked when they run away from adults. No. They got that all right.
The hard part was how to tell it so they’d understand that some grown-ups are silly enough to think they can hide from an all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful God.
So I asked how many of the children like to play hide-and-seek. Every hand went up.
“Have you ever picked a really bad hiding place like this one?” I put my hands over my eyes and said, “Okay. I’m hidden. I can’t see you so you can’t see me either, right?”
The kids laughed hysterically.
“Or how about this one?” I tried to squeeze my adult body behind an itty-bitty kiddie chair. “Can you see me now?”
They howled.
“Or maybe you’ve been here.” I returned to center stage, carefully unfolded a paper bag, plopped it over my head, and reached out with both hands – searching, groping, becoming a smidge tearful as I fell to my knees.
“Did you leave me?” I asked in faux panic. “I’m all alone in this cold, dark, horrible place. I’m so scared! Won’t someone help me?”
No laughter this time. Something had resonated with those little people.
I hadn’t expected this. Silence, so thick you could cut it with a meat cleaver. I wasn’t sure what to do next.
The kids apparently identified with my aloneness, with Jonah in his disobedience. With all humankind when we choose to dig a hole of disrespect to our Creator then lie in it, isolated … frightened … confused.
Suddenly a little voice piped up, warm and heavy with empathy. “It’s okay, Miss Debbie. We’re still here. Don’t be afraid. You’re not alone.”
And then I heard footsteps mounting the stage and felt a tiny hand take mine. Then dozens of small hands found me, surrounding me with comfort.
There I was, kneeling on a stage with a brown paper bag over my head and a huge lump in my throat, swarmed by a horde of uninhibited children who understood what it felt like to be alone and afraid – and didn’t want it to happen to me.
I was incredibly moved.
Running from God is something we silly grown-ups do, isn’t it? We actually think that secret sin of ours is secret and an all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful God somehow doesn’t know about our hidden shame.
So we isolate that part of ourselves and try to hide it in a cold, dark spiritual place that reeks like the innards of a gutted fish. We feel alone. And scared. Because our heavenly Father isn’t there.
But He is. He is. Like Jonah, we only have to call out to be heard.
“Then Jonah prayed to his God from the belly of the fish.” (Jonah 2:1
*Then Jonah prayed to the LORD his God from inside the fish.
OPEN VERSE IN BIBLE (nlt)
MSG)
Then Papa God’s warm, comforting hands will reach out from the darkness, enveloping us in forgiveness, redemption, second chances … hope.
That flash of blindness with the preschoolers truly opened my eyes. It was one of those rare teachable moments that knocks your well-ordered world off its axis and cracks open the door for a glimpse into a higher realm.
Maybe I should carry a head-bag around with me all the time.
“Now let your unfailing love comfort me, just as you promised me, your servant. Surround me with your tender mercies so I may live, for your instructions are my delight.”Psalms 119:76-77
Now let your unfailing love comfort me, just as you promised me, your servant. Surround me with your tender mercies so I may live, for your instructions are my delight.
OPEN VERSE IN BIBLE (nlt)
NLT
