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When I was young, my sister and I loved to visit Mrs. Cooper’s Front Porch Store. It was just a small cubby hole off her front porch, but it was filled with wonderful things. She stocked everything from deodorant to breakfast cereal, but what intrigued us the most was the glass case that held the candy. We so enjoyed the Bazooka bubble gum, the Licorice, and the BB Bats.
My sister and I pinched pennies to save for an occasional coveted trip down the street to Mrs. Cooper’s. On one such occasion, when we pooled our savings, we discovered we had the considerable amount of ten cents. After obtaining permission from our mother, we trekked to Mrs. Cooper’s; all the while letting our imagination dance among all the treats we could buy.
A cowbell that hung from the door of the Front Porch Store dinged as we entered. My attention was immediately drawn to a bin in one of the corners. Before I could make the three steps it would take to reach the bin, my sister dashed past me. There, before us were sheets of balsa wood with airplanes punched in them. Instructions posted just above the bin told us to punch out the parts along the perforation, assemble and fly. The price for the balsa wood plane was ten cents! As we locked eyes with each other the decision was instantly made to purchase the plane.
Our feet made quick tapping sounds on the asphalt as we hurried home. Our back porch would make an excellent launching place for our new treasure.
Over an hour raced by as we took turns flying, retrieving and flying again the small plane. Each dive and swoop of the plane would elicit giggles from us both. The novelty declining and my sister tiring, she informed me she would no longer retrieve the plane for me to fly. After she declared she was tired of playing, I turned toward the back door to go into the house but, my sister beat me inside. She spun quickly locking the door, laughing as she did so. I knew the front door was unlocked so I ran as fast as my legs would carry me around the house. My sister, sensing my plan, made it to the front door before I did. As I scurried up the steps I could see my sister through the pane of glass in our front door and she was laughing at me again.
Anger flared in my young mind at my sister for cutting short our play and for locking me out of the house twice. I was mad enough to hit her. I doubled up my fist and swung as hard as I could. My anger clouded the knowledge that a pane of glass separated my sister and me.
To this day I carry a scar on my hand, and when I look at it I remember the time I lashed out at my sister in anger. I know Someone else who bears scars on His hands, but His scars were put there because of love not anger. Yes, I am referring to Jesus, who went to the cross because He loves each of us. Those scars will forever stand as a witness to a God of love. “Can a woman forget her nursing child, And not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, Yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.” Isaiah 49: 15, 16a NKJV
It is my prayer that Jesus will live through our lives so that our actions will be done through love not anger.
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