From 5
Hitting the Brakes
sits on a hillside with a big crowd around him. He starts talking about a rule everyone knows: an eye for an eye. If someone hurts you, you're allowed to hurt them back exactly as much. Neatly measured out.
And then he says something strange. Someone slaps your one cheek? Turn the other cheek towards him.
He gives another example like it. Back then a soldier was allowed to force you to carry his bag for a . Jesus says: carry it two miles.
That's not weak surrender. It's something else. As long as you automatically hit back, the other person decides what you do. The moment you do something he didn't see coming, you're the one choosing again.
For today
Does this sound familiar?
Your little brother pokes you in the side. You poke back. Within a minute it's war in the back seat.
Do absolutely nothing just once — no sighing, no looking, nothing — and something strange happens. He pokes you again. And then it stops. The fun was your reaction.
But this doesn't always work. With teasing, almost always. With real bullying, day after day, it doesn't work, and it's also not your job to solve that on your own. Then the strongest move isn't your other cheek, but getting someone else involved.
That's not tattling and it's not weakness. You're bringing in someone bigger than the problem.
Stay calm? Not a chance. I'm hitting back as hard as I can — with interest!
Take a look in the mirror:
- When did doing nothing back help, and when did it just make things worse?
- When were you the one who kept poking until the other person got angry?
- Who would you bring in if you couldn't handle it alone anymore?
Mirror line
I'd love to hit back as hard as I could, but I've learned that whoever hits back automatically is still doing exactly what the other person wanted.
From 7
The Sawdust in Your Eye
tells a little joke. Really, it's meant as a joke.
Picture someone saying to his neighbour: hang on, there's a little splinter in your eye, let me take it out for you.
Except that man has a plank in his own eye. A whole plank. A roof beam.
The people listening have to laugh, because the picture is ridiculous. Someone like that can't see anything at all. He can't even get that plank anywhere near the other person's eye.
And then comes the line that flips the joke around: take the plank out of your own eye first. Then you'll see clearly enough to actually help your neighbour.
For today
Does this sound familiar?
You yell through the house that your little sister has thrown her shoes in the middle of the hallway again. Meanwhile your own room looks like something exploded in it.
Or at school. You think it's really rude that someone keeps talking over the teacher, and you say so to two other people. What you conveniently forget to count is that you did the exact same thing yesterday.
The strange thing is you don't see it in yourself. Not because you're lying. But because you look at yourself from the inside, and at someone else from the outside. With yourself, you know why you did it. With someone else, you only see what he did.
Look at myself? I don't think so. I'd rather point at her mess and leave my own plank exactly where it is!
Take a look in the mirror:
- What are you strict about in someone else, while you do it too?
- What would your brother or sister say if someone asked: what does he actually do that's annoying?
- Who would you dare ask that question?
Mirror line
I'd love to just point at her mess, but I've learned I have a plank of my own — I just never see it.
From 19
The Full Backpack
A young man comes up to . He's rich, he's kind, and he really tries hard. He asks: what else must I do to live well?
He probably expects to hear that he's doing just fine.
But the answer is: sell everything you have, give it away, and come with me.
The young man just stands there. He says nothing back. He turns around and walks away. And there's one small sentence that carries the whole story: he went away sad, for he owned a great deal.
He's not angry. He's sad. He does want to. But his things hold onto him more tightly than he holds onto them.
For today
Does this sound familiar?
You get something new that makes you really happy. And for the rest of the day you're mostly afraid of it. You don't take it outside, in case it gets dropped. You don't let anyone else hold it.
Outside they're calling you to come help with the den. And you're sitting inside trying out your new thing.
Or your suitcase for camp. You stuff it with everything you might possibly need, and on the way there you're lugging it around exhausted. Half of it never even comes out.
Share it? Absolutely not. I'm dumping all my excess baggage on someone else so I can travel light!
Take a look in the mirror:
- What do you own that you mostly guard instead of actually use?
- When did you stay inside because you didn't dare take something out with you?
- If you had to give away exactly one thing right now, what would it be? Not the easy answer — the honest one.
Mirror line
I'd love to just keep everything, but I've learned things don't make you freer — you also have to guard them, keep them clean, and not lose them.
