I ordered my usual Earl Grey with 2% steamed milk and two sugars before spotting the largest table I could find near a wall charger. Quickly, I Cha Cha slide to the left of a fellow customer, hoping no one would lay claim to what I consider the most coveted spot in my absolute favorite place to write. I proudly wear my badge of victory as I set up my mobile office.
As I sit, relishing in the warmth of my tea, memories from long ago flood my mind. Memories of Friday tea time with Dr. Black in AP English. Memories of my parents picking me up from boarding school. Memories…
It’s funny how certain memories seem to stay with you for years, isn’t it? Especially the ones that have a way of bringing you to your knees. You know, like the one where your biological father blamed you for your strained relationship, but also admitted he had been intentionally ignoring your phone calls and voicemails. Why do those memories stick to you like that annoying piece of lint that won’t come off your favorite pair of slacks?
I catch sight of Shonda Rhimes’ Year of Yes in my work bag as I take another sip of tea.
Are Shonda and I kindred spirits? Have I, too, just been laying track all these years? Have I been so focused on the hurt and on what hasn’t worked that I’ve been oblivious to the complete picture? To the pain and the beauty?
I slowly swallow another sip of my tea and exhale.
Well? Am I going to continue justifying my perception and behavior towards others based on single moments of history?
Then it hits me.
Did Jesus? Did Jesus focus on the hatred He experienced and decide He wasn’t going to die for you and me?
God knows I do not want to think about how Jesus would handle this right now. All I want to do is sit here with my Earl Grey and stew in my pot of despondency.
I’m human, okay. So don’t cast any stones my way. There won’t be any stone casting allowed on my side of the Internet.
But seriously, as I look across this wooden table, I know what I need to do. I just don’t want to do it. Believe it or not, these painful memories are familiar and comfortable--like my favorite blanket and sweatpants. These memories justify my stance.
Yet, I realize these memories are also blocking me from change. The kind of change I’ve been needing to break down the parasite-filled walls of my heart.
As I finish the last drop of my beloved tea, I know it’s time.
I’m just afraid I may die if I rip off this bandage completely (yes, I’m exaggerating).
Guess I’ll have to start with baby steps.
Just let me grab a bigger bag and start gathering all the stones I’ve casted.
Have you ever recognized when you were casting stones against someone? What did you do about it?
[No worries, friend. You can share. This is a no stone casting side of the Internet. :o) ]