I feel sorry for Jay. He didn't have a seemingly fair chance at life. I understand why he became what he did. The other kids at school were intolerant of the way he was ...and if we admit it, we all have things we are less tolerant of. It is just my hope that our insensitivity does not have a lasting negative affect upon anyone.

How many of us have had to also face the cruelty of bullies, relentless taunting or teasing?  How many of us have felt neglected, ignored, or perhaps abused?

Should we propose intolerance of the behavior of this victim of an environment he had little choice but to live in?

Though we should pour all our love and understanding towards the person, we are not showing our best loving concern by tolerating all of the behavior.

It is just often more difficult if we began with a lack of love, then having to address the resulting behavior ...perhaps then, your soul should do the crying.

Proverbs 19:18 ...

"Chasten your son while there is hope, and let not your soul spare for his crying."

Jesus said:

"As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten: be zealous therefore, and repent.  Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if anyone hears my voice, and opens the door;     I will come in to them ..."

Chasten ...instruct ...correct ...to train up a child ...to disciple, which also includes discipline, as also implied by the crying.

That does not mean there has to be a hickory stick or equivalent.  My children cried plenty from getting a time-out.

                                                                                                                                         

Fear is the beginning of wisdom.

I fear not listening to Dad.  My Dad does not believe in spanking.  He says his own dad believed in a whipping, not a spanking.  He said Grandpa used a milker strap, or milking strap ---something like that.  It was a thick leather strap with metal eyelets to fasten the belt around the cow, which the milker was attached to.  Dad has a thick leather belt that he wears.  He used it on me once.  I can't imagine what Grandpa's strap felt like.  It must have really hurt.  Dad says he behaved when he was young because he feared the strap.

I thought about that.  At the time, I thought I would even prefer the strap ---to what Dad began to use. He used his mind.  He made me sit a time out, which I thought was a terrible thing for a boy like me who has  so much energy.  And worse yet, while I was sitting there, Dad would  make me think about what I did.  I thought to myself, "I think I'd prefer the strap.  Sure it would hurt, but it would be much quicker."

That was not the end of it either.  The worse part was that I would have to talk about it afterwards.  As if thinking about it was not painful enough, I'd have to go through the pain all over again by telling about it afterwards.  So, I was really afraid that I might get a time out.                                       

Once I told Dad that, but he said I didn't fear it enough ---since I still didn't avoid it.  Dad had a point there.  I had a real problem with my focus. If I feared it so much, then why didn't I think about that in advance ---and avoid the trouble?

                                                                                                                                                                                                    
When I turned 13 years old, or years young, as Dad would say, I asked him when I would get years old.  Dad said, "When I acted like it."

Well, this particular day I felt old.  Dad took me with him to the woods when he went for firewood.  He brought his chainsaw and some earplugs, so the loud chainsaw wouldn't damage his hearing, he said.  Dad said I wasn't old enough to operate a chainsaw, but I felt kind of old, just by the sole fact that Dad took me along.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Somewhere along the way though, I must have begun feeling young again.  Dad said there were bears in the woods and not to wander off.    But somewhere along the way, I got bored with watching Dad.  I could think of more pleasant things than standing there while sawdust and woodchips kept flying in my face.  So, I wandered off.

I must not have been thinking of the time out, or worse yet, the talk afterwards …or even worse, the chance meeting with a bear, who would perhaps remind me of my disobedience ---in perhaps a much more severe fashion.

Nevertheless, I sadly have to admit that I wandered off.  And sure enough, there was a bear.  I saw the bear before he saw me.  I also quickly saw the wisdom in fearing to disobey Dad.  But since I hadn't respected that fear, I now faced a greater fear ---the quick wisdom and fear that comes naturally, in facing the bear.

I was already running as fast as I could, but I knew I could not outrun the bear.  I thought I had a good head start, but when the bear began to give chase, I realized I had no chance in running from the bear.  A change came over me then.  I found myself, not running from the bear, but rather running to my Dad.

I was afraid because I disobeyed Dad, but this was the very first time I eagerly awaited my time out ---and the 'talk'.  I now saw Dad differently than I had before.  I really believe Dad doesn't enjoy giving me time outs. He stresses obedience and is so rigid with his standards because he loves me.  And that's why I ran to him ---not fearing the time out.

Of course, this time Dad not only had me talk about the incident, but he also made me write about it.  I had to re-write it five times!  Anyway, you've just read the story.  I know it's not a long story.  By now, you probably know what it's like to read a long story.  But I thought I could make my point with a 2-page story, listing only the 'bear' facts.

Today, I have a bear rug to step onto as I crawl out of bed on cold winter mornings.  And I don't dread time outs, or the talk afterwards. Actually, I find myself talking to Dad more freely.  I ask for a time out to talk with him when I'm troubled about having done something wrong. And I do something else I've never done.  I cry when I feel I've really disappointed Dad.   I know how much he loves me and the thing that matters to me the most, is that I please him.

     And I listen closer to some of the even more important things that Dad has tried in the past to talk with me about.  Before I heard some, but didn't listen much.  Now, I think I am even beginning to understand.