Sticks and stones may break my bones; but names will never hurt me. We teach our children that simple rhyme to wash away the pain of the names that will be thrown at them throughout their lives. Some names will stick and others won’t. Some names will teach us about ourselves.
Once while teaching a lesson, my wonderful husband inadvertently referred to me as a donkey. He didn’t really mean that I was a donkey, or any variation thereof; he was speaking of the donkey in story of Balaam (Numbers 22) and how my actions reminded him more of the donkey than of Balaam. An interesting fact about donkeys is that they will not back up; they have to move forward to turn around to change their course. The donkey in the story of Balaam comes to a point where there are things on the right and the left of him, and an angel in front of him; so he was stuck. (That is when Balaam struck him and the donkey spoke.)
Rich referred to my actions as those of the donkey because all too often I don’t backtrack, if I am in the wrong, I will forge ahead full force. When I realize I am in the wrong and need to make a change, I do a complete 180. He calls me black or white, hot or cold, no middle ground; and it’s all true.
But I think that is true with God as well. We can’t be partially saved, we are either going to heaven or we are not. We have either committed a sin or we have not. We are either portraying Christ in our daily walk, or we are not. All of which seem pretty black and white to me.
Then I wonder why did Christ ride into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey? For a long time I thought it was as a sign of his humble place, not a place of royalty…to show that He was one of the everyday people.
But, then I think…a donkey will not retreat.
Christ knew when he rode into Jerusalem that day that it was the beginning of the end of His time here on earth. He was riding into the city where He would be betrayed and put to death. He knew that Calvary was ahead of Him and He rode into that time of His life with no intention of going back.
When Christ sends His disciples to retrieve the donkey, He claims “Do not fear, O Daughter of Zion! Look! Your King is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt.” (John 12:15) His actions are to fulfill the prophecy, and to walk on the pathway set before Him by God.
Christ lived a perfect life. Part of that perfection was to walk down His path without fear. To know fully what He was about to face and experience, and to continue down the path because it was the will of His Father.
I guess I am like a donkey. I walk down the paths of my life full throttle, sometimes at the cost to my personal well-being. I am learning, and I am living for Christ with a stubbornness that helps me plant my steps along the path, even when they are wrong. That same stubbornness brings me back when I lose my way, and it teaches me that what once was stubbornness, can actually bloom into determination when watered and fed by the Word and love of God.
So sticks and stones may break our bones, but the names we are called can teach us about ourselves, realizing God’s plan for our lives and what was meant for harm can blossom in grace.
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RE: Names can change you
I agree wholeheartedly, I was born and raised into a southern family that in my parents generation still believed in the necessity of separating the races. I knew no better and used the epithets I was taught; it was that way until I was in 6th grade. I met my first black student and at first the prejudices that were ingrained in me since birth were worn on my sleeve, however a wonderful teacher was smart enough to pair me off with a boy of black decent to do a project. By the time I walked home that afternoon, I had a ton of questions for my parents and the innocence that was taught to me was no longer valid.
My father kept his prejudices the majority of his life, never being overt about them, but he harbored them as one would a secret sin. At 64 years of age financial situations changed his ability to retire and he sought and found employment running a concrete construction crew for our local city government. He inherited a collection of the guys who were the worst on all the other crews, and by happenstance Dad and one other young redneck were the only white men on the crew. Over the next few years Dad came to the same epiphany as I had as a youth, working side by side he was able to see these men as human beings who went through the same trials and tribulations as he did.
When Dad was 68 he suffered lung damage from the inhalation of dangerous gasses while using an acetylene torch to cut iron pipe. This put him in a hospital bed at home where he was tended by my mother. The men on his crew made a point to come by now and then to mow the lawn, work on his car, and many other selfless deeds while volunteering their time. All of these men grew through their prejudices and name calling to be better men, better husbands and better fathers.