This is where the story intersects with me in my own little reality. "Saddlebags" was the curse of my existence in elementary school. This was the recurrent nickname that used to send all kinds of horror into my life and make me feel rejected and worthless and friendless. I still remember the dreadful day when my mother sent me to school in the olive green, hideous dress. That day of all days, I was chosen to hold the doors to let everyone back into the building after recess. A glorious job, by the way. All of us lived to be chosen to be seen holding the door while the whole student population passed by. There I was in that hideous dress, everyone is passing me by and seeing me, when one of the multitudes says something ugly ending in calling me "Saddlebags". Could ever anyone have suffered such humiliation? Why on earth the bully police did not rush in and arrest the culprit I do not know. Worse, where were the child protectives service people who should have, at the very least, offered my mother the service of a fashion consultant, not to mention an allowance to purchase something ever so much prettier for me. Alas, this did not happen, and today the memory remains. Perhaps I ought to put that away in a saddlebag to ride on to Jesus!
Or the nasty year in six grade when a particularly vicious group of girls identified themselves as popular by identifying others of us as not popular. The story would have been sad enough had the girls just never invited me in, but they did sometimes. I was a marginal cool girl in the sixth grade. Sometimes I was allowed to stay and then thrown out on a whim, usually painfully. But the very worst part of that story was a girl named Helen. She was never in the 'in' group and she was always the focus of the nastiness, always. I remember now Helen opening her valentines and crying because of the ugly notes some of the girls had written her. I don't think I was ever ugly to Helen, though I might have been. I know that I never defended Helen to the others, my grasp on coolness was so tenuous and the pain of exclusion so great. I am sorry Helen, where ever you are. I hope you have been able to put this in a saddle bag and send it on to meet Jesus. I am sorry I was too shallow to do the hard stuff of standing up for you, with you. I am putting this in the saddlebag now, but I am remembering that in the redemption that will follow, God may allow me to have more courage in the future.
And then there is Jim, who was gentle and kind, and whose family loved me as I have really never been loved. They loved me enough to help me become a stronger member of my own church, which lead to distance and ignoring Jim, and I ended up hurting Jim and all of his family in my self absorption and very limited vision. Even today, the horror I feel at my lack of feeling and sensitivity wash over me and I wonder just exactly how far I have grown. Am I not today sometimes so incredibly self absorbed that others fade into the background and I am not aware of how little I am even thinking of them. I am asking forgiveness, I am putting this into the saddlebag and I am trusting that for Jim and his family there has been redemption, and blessings for the many blessings they gave me. I am keeping a little note to remind myself that love is precious and I need to make sure I nurture those I love, and who love me.
I am adding Bruce to my saddlebag. Bruce was my love struck fellow in college, who betrayed my secrets to my roommate and caused division. Bruce loved me until he didn't, and then he was cruel and vicious. Bruce sent to my mother complaining of my character defects, including that I forced him to visit my parents home against his will. I remember the absolute fear I felt when my mother read the letter to me, I was so sure it would be believed and my own family would reject me. How awful that moment was. I remember my mothers response to Bruce, saying she wished he had told her he was being held against his will, that my parents didn't allow me to kidnap people. What a relief that was! A greater relief when, in the next semester, Bruce indicated that he had forgiven me and would like to go again, that I could say no and walk away without regret. Sadly, when Bruce told others that he didn't get an RA job, that I had complained to the Administration about him, some of them believed him. I was told those people weren't real friends, but then how does one know a real friend? So Bruce and my non-real friends, I am putting you in the saddlebag. I am pretty sure this one has already been redeemed, it is just now being release.
I think saddlebags have limited space, so I am sending this one on. There will be more stuff, in this emotional purge, but for now, I am satisfied! There is more room in here for God and less crap that I am forced to climb over or work around. Way to go, Sister Kathleen. What a means of grace your mother has been. Wait, I think I see some redemption!
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