Vengeance is Mine

For context about the story I'm about to tell, allow me to give you some background.

From the time I was a small child, I loved sports and competition in general. I especially got wound up if I were a participant as opposed to being a spectator. My "career" as a player began at age 8 when I started playing in the recreation leagues at Bloomfield Park in Lakewood, California. Flag football, basketball and baseball were the sports I played in those days.

I even remember the names of the teams I played on... the Falcons, Indians and Pioneers. We didn't have full uniforms... just team shirts but I cannot adequately describe the feeling of pride and invincibility I felt when I put on that shirt and looked in the mirror. And on game days... oh boy! I could not wait to get on the field or the court. 

Just imagine the transformation of Clark Kent to Superman. That was me... minus the strength, the flying ability and the blue tights. But in my mind, when I put on that team shirt, I was ready to take on the bad guys, aka the opposing team.

So, that was my mindset and motivation growing up. The other piece of context necessary for the full picture was my life situation and circumstances at the time between the ages of 16 to 19.

I moved in with my brother, Bill and his wife in the fall of 1975. I was 16. I had escaped an undesirable home life in Iowa and landed in Norwalk, California. There is so much more I could say about this period of time but for the sake of brevity, I will focus on the details most pertinent to this story.

I started attending church at 16 and it became the focal point of my existence. Our apartment was right across the street from the church and with my brother on staff there, I spent an inordinate amount of time on the church grounds.

One of the first mentors I had as a young Christian was my youth director at the church. His name was Greg. He was a big guy, strong and athletic. Greg had a wonderful sense of humor and a big heart. I admired him greatly.

In the summer of 1976, when I was 17, we got together with a few churches for softball games. I mean, it was church team softball but that old spark of my competitive nature still burned strong! I looked forward to each and every game. I didn't care what or who it was... I wanted to win!

Youth Director Greg was a huge part of our team. Probably our best player. He could hit the ball a country mile and when he would throw the ball, you would swear that it was shot out of a cannon. He was a pitcher in high school and obviously had all the physical tools necessary for a gifted athlete. And he was very competitive in nature also.

 The next summer, 1977, at age 18, I took over the organization of the softball league. I added some more rules and regulations that gave it more of an "official" vibe. We hired real umpires, found better playing fields and studied up on the actual slow pitch softball rule book.

In 1978, my brother was called to pastor a church in a neighboring city. After a couple months, I followed him there.

One of the first things I did at my new church, was to put a softball team together. Our church had a Christian school affiliate with some athletically talented high schoolers. Needless to say, I took full advantage of that resource to fill out my line-up.

As I organized the softball league for that summer, I wondered how it would feel to play against Greg and my old team. I don't know what it was but I had such a burning desire to beat my old team and we did just that. By the midpoint of that season, we were undefeated and I was having a blast with my new team.

So, we were 5-0, having beat all 5 teams that we had faced, we were set to begin the second half of the season where we would face the same 5 teams again. I don't recall who we were playing but I took notice that Greg was in attendance as a spectator. I thought it was cool that he was there, seemingly to watch his friends, my brother and me. What actually took place sort of blew me away.

In about the second inning, Greg was standing by the backstop, his hands gripping the chain link... actively rooting against us. I was floored. I was bewildered! I was hurt!

He kept it up for the entire game. To be fair and honest, he never said anything derogatory about us. He never criticized the umpire. He wasn't particularly ugly in his actions. But I really felt that he violated our friendship and our bond. Even if, for competitive sake, he wanted to see the only undefeated team (us) lose... he could have rooted for that outcome in the privacy of his mind.

During that game, between innings, my brother and I discussed and plotted our revenge. We decided that we were going to give Greg a taste of his own medicine during his next game and we did just that.

A few days later, Greg's team was playing and my brother and I were there, hands grasped onto the backstop and making a spectacle of ourselves, rooting for the other team. We were loud, rude, vocal and ruthless... um, at a "church" league softball game.

I'm sure Greg knew what we were doing and why we were doing it but the rest of his team, who had been our friends for years, seemed stunned and baffled. Understandably so. We didn't seem to care about them. We were on a mission and Greg's teammates were the collateral damage.

I felt enthused and locked into our mission until about the last inning... when I started to wonder what in the heck were we doing. After the game, we quickly got into my brother's car, before any of them could approach us and drove away. There was no, "We got him back!" we just drove in silence as the gravity of our actions settled in. 

As the days and months passed, I tried to push the memories of that event out of my mind but found that task to be impossible. At times, in an effort to soothe my conscience, I would attempt to rationalize my actions but that tactic never worked. My guilty conscience haunted me.

I don't recall when and how... but at some point, I made an attempt at an apology to Greg but it seemed to fall flat. It was obvious that I had broken a bond that would never be fully healed. What I did was wrong, immature and very unchristian. 

What did I learn from that situation?

1. "Vengeance is mine, I will repay," says the Lord. Dabbling in revenge may feel good but as with any sin, it only feels good for a season. No matter how right and just it feels at the time, there is always a shelf life for that emotion. 

2. Conversation Feeds Understanding. Why didn't my brother and I call Greg, after the game in which he rooted against us, and simply have a conversation. Why didn't we seek to gain greater understanding of his motives. Even if his explanation didn't satisfy us, at least we could have demonstrated character and integrity... which would have helped all three of us.

3. Guard Your Testimony. If you claim Christ, demonstrate Christ. Probably the most important lesson of this episode is that we came off as hypocrites to our faith. I mean, no Christian is perfect but just being a decent human is pretty low hanging fruit, is it not? I failed but I learned.

Regrets... I've had a few

Read the Room

 It was the fall of 1977. I was 18 years old and had recently moved into my dorm at the Pacific Coast Baptist Bible College in San Dimas, California. I was there to study for the ministry. I wasn't 100% sure which ministry I wanted to pursue but I was leaning toward working with teens.

My dorm housed many of the incoming first year students. My class was the largest ever at the small but growing Bible college. Noel Smith Dorm was the official name of my home for that year but we all affectionately called it "Purgatory."

It was different than all the other dorms on campus, which typically held four students to a room. "Purgatory" resembled an army barracks with multiple rows of bunk beds in each of the three rooms. But I loved it and embraced this new adventure that would help launch me into adulthood.

I quickly got to know a handful of fellow students. I met Tim, who had a striking resemblance to Elvis Presley and would become my best friend at school over the next few years; Chuck, who happened to be from Iowa, which gave us a connection point; and Bobby, who used a ton of hairspray to hold in place his perfectly styled hair and who had perfected the characteristic of "cool," rivaled only by the late actor, James Dean.

There were many others I could mention. Fun guys. Dedicated in their faith, but regular dudes, anxious to see what God had in store for their lives. 

Across the room from me was a guy, Brian, who seemed much more quiet and introverted. I remember trying to strike up a conversation with him a couple times but his responses were minimal and he rarely made eye contact.

Brian was a bigger guy... maybe 6 foot 2 and about 200+ pounds. Every afternoon, after classes had ended for the day, he would change into his sweats and would go for a run through our beautiful campus, nestled in the shadows of the majestic San Gabriel Mountains.

Each day, the sound of heavy footsteps and labored breathing would signal the conclusion of Brian's daily run as he would come through the doors of Purgatory. He would then pace back and forth in the dorm room as a cool-off technique. 

I'd watch him from my bunk and would marvel at the amount of perspiration that man generated on his run. I mean he would be absolutely soaked from head to toe. 

One day during that first week of school, as Brian was pacing after a run, in an attempt at humor, I said, "Hey brother, do you just go outside and sit under a sprinkler for awhile to make us think that you are working out?" Brian shot me a glance but didn't say anything. I thought maybe he didn't understand what I said and decided not to repeat myself as he seemed distracted with his routine.

The next day, Brian repeated his pattern... changing into his sweats, going for a run and returning to the dorm to cool down, soaked with sweat. I decided to hit him again with my comedic shtick, "Hey man... where exactly is that sprinkler you sit under everyday?" 

Brian immediately stopped his pacing and made a beeline to my bunk. He stooped down, his eyes narrowed, staring a hole right through me and poked my chest as he unloaded. 

"Listen! I don't know where you get off with your sarcastic attempt at humor but I don't think you are funny in the slightest! I work my tail off every day while you lay in your bunk, reading a book and eating a Twinkie!" I was hoping he was done but he was just getting started.

"I weighed over 300 pounds in high school and was the object of ridicule every single day! I finally decided to do something about it. I made a commitment to diet and run every single day of my senior year. I've lost over 100 pounds because I work hard at it but you think it's a joke! It's not a joke... it's my lifeline!"

Brian turned around and resumed his pacing.

I froze. I was paralyzed with regret and shame. My eyes welled up as I searched for something to say.

I got up and followed him as he walked back and forth. I apologized... over and over again. Brian ignored my words. Who could blame him? My heart hurt. I felt broken. I was so angry at myself.

It was now clear to see why he was so introverted and detached. He didn't trust his peers. Why should he? And I unknowingly added to his mistrust. What I thought was a funny ice breaker turned out to be another brick in his wall of pain.

That whole first semester, I would feebly attempt to engage Brian in conversation but to no avail. It was clear to see that he had no desire for interaction with me.

That December, we all went home for Christmas break. When we returned in January, Brian's stuff was gone. He had decided that this was not the place for him. I'm sure that there were plenty of factors that played into that decision, as we lost about half of our Purgatory brethren... but I couldn't help but believe that I played a part in it. 

This story of regret has stuck with me for all of these 48 years later. But it has taught me some valuable lessons:

1.    Read the Room. I didn't really know Brian and his story. Humor can be a great connector but it can also be a great divider if one is not careful. My sense of humor isn't everyone's cup of tea and therefore, I must choose wisely where, how and with whom I use it.

2.    Honor Achievement. It is far better to recognize and honor achievement rather than joke about it. Unbeknownst to me, Brian had put in a ton of work and had displayed tremendous self-discipline in his weight loss journey. People, in general, crave recognition and validation... especially for feats of hard work and accomplishment. Give it to them! Be that source of encouragement!

3.    Build Relationships. Approach relationships with distinct intentionality. Had I waited and gotten to know Brian better, I may have discovered his backstory. Instead, I thought I was a stand-up comedian and went looking for a laugh... but that's not what I got. My reward was a deep seated regret.

So, have I mastered these lessons? Nope. But I continue to work on myself. I feel like I am more self-aware than ever but still very imperfect. 

Regrets... I've had a few.