The Bus Ride
If someone does wrong to you, do not pay him back by doing wrong to him. Try to do what everyone thinks is right (Romans 12:17, ICB).
Riding the bus was not easy for this overweight little girl with corn silk blond hair and glasses. My nickname was Maureen the jelly bean—among others. I hated getting on the big yellow monster machine that took me away from my safe haven called home. As I climbed up the steps, I was always greeted by the bus driver, a tall, red-haired man named Mr. Sampson. Since I was the last one to get on, I sat in the front seat. However, right behind me sat three boys who insisted on making my life miserable. They would make pig noises and whisper in my ear, “Pigs don’t go to school!” For about two months after 3rd grade started, I tolerated their bullying and said and did nothing but cry when I got home.
One icy morning, I slipped and my books slid under the bus. I had to crawl under and get them while the bus driver turned off the engine. When I collected everything, I climbed those dreaded steps and there they were! “Oink, oink, oink!” First, I was already red-faced but I sat down, put my books down on the seat, stood up, turned around, doubled up my fist and hit the lead bully in the nose. The blood poured down his face and onto his shirt. The look on his face was total disbelief and shock. He started to cry and he sat down.
The kids on the bus cheered for me!
Mr. Sampson had not started the bus yet and asked me to step outside. My stomach was in knots. I knew I was in serious trouble because not only was he good friends with my parents but he was also my Sunday school teacher. It couldn’t be any worse.
“I wondered how long it would take you. Maureen, you know that what you did was wrong. Hitting someone is not how what you have been taught at home or in Sunday school.”
“Yes sir, I know. Are you going to tell my parents?”
“No, you are—and then you are going to ask them to call me.”
My day did not go well. I couldn’t eat lunch and did not want to play with anyone. I felt so confused. If I did something so wrong, why did all the kids on the bus cheer? He had hurt my feelings twice a day for at least two months.
At dinner that night after the blessing, I told my family what had been going on and how I decked the bully and bloodied his nose. Even the dog stopped begging for food. Utter silence. I quickly told them that Mr. Sampson wanted to talk with them. My father left the table and made the call. Gratefully, I couldn’t hear the conversation and sat glued to my seat as I played with the food on my plate. When he returned, he said we would speak of this later because he needed to talk to my mother.
After the dishes were dried and put away, my parents sat with me in the living room and asked me all kinds of questions about the bullying. My father’s most memorable question was this: “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I was afraid…and embarrassed.” I had prayed about it every single night but God wasn’t doing anything to help me. I even said thank You, God, when the boy was sick and didn’t come to school.
My father and Mr. Sampson handled it from there and the boy never, ever made fun of me again.
The boy’s name was Chubby Grant.
With Every Act of Love Jason Gray
Father, help us not to judge others but to love them through Your compassionate eyes. Help us to remember that even when others cheer us on, it is not their approval that we should be seeking. AMEN.