Truth Can Be Painful

Job 27:3-4 MSG

Near the end of my working life I had a wonderful unique once in a lifetime experience.

I was working for a large mortgage company doing executive level customer service. Before you think it was a glamorous job I need to explain that we were the last stop for the customers.

We HAD to fix the problem. Even when there was no way, we were given the charge to figure out how to fix it.

The people I worked with were not novices.

We were trained and we either knew what we were doing or we forged a new path. We had to think outside the box.

We sat in four plex style. One day when incoming calls were slow (probably just before a holiday) the four of us had an interesting conversation about how we grew up.

We were being gut wrenchingly honest. I was the oldest and I went first. I told them my life was pretty dull. I lived in a suburb in K.C. We went to a Christian church every Sunday and on Sunday afternoon my Mom fixed Fried Chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans and desert for dinner.

Both sides of my family had Irish roots. All of my grandparents went to church.

Every night we sat at a table together and ate dinner. We watched Gunsmoke weekly.

I suppose because I shared about my faith, they shared that as well. Before that discussion that day I thought I knew them. I was wrong.

One grew up in Vietnam and he came to the United States after the war. He was raised Buddhist and still practiced Buddhism. He shared more but for our purposes that is a key factor.

The other woman in the foursome was raised in Bosnia and came to the U.S. near the end of the war. She was Muslim.

The last fellow was born in the United States and his family was Jewish. He was Hebrew born and bred and attended Synagogue.

After revealing more about ourselves that day it became a thing to tease each other…I took the biggest hit because of the part the Christians played in various wars. They knew I was more that able to take the hit and laugh about it.

We were painfully honest and often laughed so hard our sides hurt. I regularly admitted the Crusades were not the Christian’s finest hour.

In  Job 27:3-4 we read, “But for as long as I draw breath, and for as long as God breathes life into me, I refuse to say one word that isn’t true.”

When I read today’s verse that I chose weeks ago I thought of my very different work partners.

Years later I remember the laughter and the dialogue about Christianity.

I hope I do not forget the time we spent together laughing and being painfully honest about our faith and the perception of our faith.

Sitting with them and getting to know how and where they grew up was life-changing for me.

They teased me about growing up in a Betty Cleaver white picket fence life.

Ultimately I walked away with the realization I had never lived in a war zone. Two of them grew up in that environment. The other person who had not lived in a war zone overseas grew up knowing what antisemitism meant.

I realized growing up I didn’t even know what antisemitism was or what it meant. I didn’t know what it was like to be persecuted because of my family roots.

My people were Irish. We were (are) Leprechauns (I am 4’11” tall). My dad was 5’7” tall and my Mom is 5’2” tall.

Growing up we laughed a lot. Laughter was an important part of every day. My special talent was spewing my milk at the table because my brother would say something funny just as I took a drink of milk.

I was humbled the day the four of us had the conversation about what our life was like growing up.

I realized I was raised in white picked fence America.

Knowing that forever changed and humbled me.

Deborah

acrazyjourney.com