Lethal Weapons

In the Amazon jungle native Indians hunt small animals using a blowgun. I'm sure you've seen it on National Geographic or some such program. They point a bamboo gun up at some trees, give a quick puff, and suddenly a creature, completely unsuspecting, drops to the ground. Their skill and precision is amazing. The weapon, a small dart, is perfectly engineered - it's small, it's quiet, and it's fast! Some monkey or bird, perched happily in a peaceful tree, has no idea what's about to hit him!

Have you ever been hit by a little tiny poisonous dart? It seems lately I keep getting hit by those. It's quiet, it's fast, and suddenly OW I feel a sharp pain from out of nowhere! Completely unsuspected! It stings, and if I let it, the poison can sink deep.

I'm thinking about this whole poison dart thing. And I'm wondering - what's going on?! What could God possibly want with me, by allowing me to get hit by these darts? And I gasp in horror - how many times have I held up the bamboo blowgun, given a quick puff, and ffssstt! shot someone in the jugular...? I have felt the sting, felt the poison in my vital organs...you would think the pain of the experience would make me throw away, burn, and destroy that blowgun. But it doesn't. Personally, it's easy to hold my breath (aka bite my tongue) with anyone outside my immediate family. At least, that's my perception of myself (although usually our perceptions of ourselves are totally off!). Hm. As I write, I am reminded of an incident in eighth grade. I was cruel to a classmate. I don't even remember her name. I said something mean and unkind. I am still haunted by it today, sometimes even wishing I would get a call from some talk show host, this young girl seeking out her verbal attackers from junior high. I beg God for a chance to seek her forgiveness. It makes me sick to think of the hurt I caused her.

What if I've so gotten used to shooting those darts that I don't even realize when I'm doing it? I know for certain, and I shamefully confess, that with my husband I pretty much walk around with the blowgun permanently attached to my mouth. God forgive me. He must be covered with little poisonous darts that I've shot at him over the past eight years! Maybe this is my lesson. Maybe the healing salve is to come clean before my Judge, my Father. Destroy the blowgun, hand over the poisonous darts of my own. Ask Him to remind me - every time I hear a "fssstt!" fly through the air, feel that dart prick my skin - to search my own heart, open my ears and my heart to hear what's on my tongue before I give that deathly puff. I beseech you not to mistake my shame-filled confession for self-righteousness. This is ugliness revealed. And why make it public? Perhaps in sharing this with you, you will pray for me. That my skin might be a bit tougher next time I get stung, but more importantly, that I will truly destroy the weapon, never to be used again.