Let them be put to shame and confusion who seek my life! Let them be turned back and brought to dishonor who delight in my hurt! (Verse 2)
...he who touches you, touches the apple (pupil) of His eye. Zechariah 2:8
What goes around comes around. I've heard that a million times. But that is what the psalmist asks for here. Turn back on my enemy what my enemy is trying to do to me. Is that a fair prayer? It seems to be, especially in light of the fact David is asking God to take charge. He isn't interested in being judge and jury himself. Let God put the enemy to shame and confusion.
Twice I have had damage to the cornea of my eyes. Once, and don't judge me here, I had eyeliner tattooed around my eyelids. I live in California, what can I say. The numbing compound got into my left eye and burned it so badly I had to go to the opthamologist the next day. He chuckled, said his wife had her eyes tattooed also, and gave me some medication to ease the absolute misery of the burn. It took a couple of days to go back to normal, but oh the pain. The second time, don't judge me here, either, I stuck a brush bristle in my eye. How does she do it? That is what you are asking. I know you by now. But that is not the point - that, being my propensity for self-induced pain. It hurts to have something stuck in your eyeball! It makes the victim mad - fighting mad!
I am learning that when I am oppressed by those who would hurt me, the best solution is to trust God for any comeuppance that might be appropriate. I belong to my Father so whoever hurts me, hurts Him. Like any great parent, my Father understands the situation from a higher perspective than I do. That means sometimes when I think I have been seriously wronged, He must show me I am the one in need of correction. But when that's not the case, watch out! I have seen Him turn things around on those who have seriously wronged me, and it wasn't pretty nor did I particularly enjoy watching it. Not overnight, of course. But in time, He took charge because the offender made my Father mad, too.
I changed schools in the ninth grade and left my best friends on the other side of town. We moved on up, so the kids I was used to were not so well-heeled and snooty as the ones I then found myself in the midst of. However, there was a boy I had grown up around in my freshman class in high school the next year. Our families got together fairly regularly when we were in elementary school as our mothers were long-time friends. We will call him Harry. Harry was in my home room along with the entire football team. They all wore their letter jackets even in Texas September when the temperatures still hover near 100 degrees. There were no assigned seats that I knew of in home room. But Danny Hoover (not his real name), half-back extraordinaire, came in one particular morning and saw me sitting in what he moments later decided was his desk. "Make like a sewer and get the @#@# out of here," he said, sweat beading on his forehead, dripping hubris like anointing oil all over his upper lip.
Of course, I moved. Good old Harry said nothing. Pretended he didn't know me so well. Completely ashamed, I headed to the bathroom at lunch and ate mine there. For several days. I thought I was what Danny called me. My family asked me questions at dinner with only harumphs for answers.
"What is wrong with you, Kay?" my father asked a few days later. "You aren't yourself."
"Nothing." How could I tell even him what someone said to me.
"Yes, there is." Daddy put his arms around me. The killer response. So I blubbered the entire story into his shoulder.
My daddy was mad. Like someone had stuck his finger into Daddy's eye on purpose. "This boy will apologize to you tomorrow!"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Daddy went Braveheart, and it was a little scary.
"What is this kid's name?" Daddy demanded.
"Danny Hoover," I replied.
My father proceeded to call every Hoover in the phone book until he found the one with a kid named Danny who went to my high school.
"Your son will apologize to my daughter tomorrow or I will know the reason why!" Click. Done.
A rather drooping Danny Hoover was waiting for me at my locker the next morning. Still the jacket without the flair. Head down. Mumbling at first.
"What did you say?" Forgive me, but it felt good.
"Sorry I said that to you yesterday." Not much bravado, but my young lady heart had healing poured over it.
I know more about who I am now and Danny wouldn't have had the same power over me today, though I'm sure it would hurt....my slapping, him, I mean. (Ahem) More importantly, I know I am a child of the Most High God. With that comes the responsibility of acting and reacting like He would have me to. That means leaving retribution and justice up to Him, knowing I am my Lord's beloved. I go forward in forgiveness, dropping off those who would not pursue good with me, and keep on holding Abba's hand.
...he who touches you, touches the apple (pupil) of His eye. Zechariah 2:8
What goes around comes around. I've heard that a million times. But that is what the psalmist asks for here. Turn back on my enemy what my enemy is trying to do to me. Is that a fair prayer? It seems to be, especially in light of the fact David is asking God to take charge. He isn't interested in being judge and jury himself. Let God put the enemy to shame and confusion.
Twice I have had damage to the cornea of my eyes. Once, and don't judge me here, I had eyeliner tattooed around my eyelids. I live in California, what can I say. The numbing compound got into my left eye and burned it so badly I had to go to the opthamologist the next day. He chuckled, said his wife had her eyes tattooed also, and gave me some medication to ease the absolute misery of the burn. It took a couple of days to go back to normal, but oh the pain. The second time, don't judge me here, either, I stuck a brush bristle in my eye. How does she do it? That is what you are asking. I know you by now. But that is not the point - that, being my propensity for self-induced pain. It hurts to have something stuck in your eyeball! It makes the victim mad - fighting mad!
I am learning that when I am oppressed by those who would hurt me, the best solution is to trust God for any comeuppance that might be appropriate. I belong to my Father so whoever hurts me, hurts Him. Like any great parent, my Father understands the situation from a higher perspective than I do. That means sometimes when I think I have been seriously wronged, He must show me I am the one in need of correction. But when that's not the case, watch out! I have seen Him turn things around on those who have seriously wronged me, and it wasn't pretty nor did I particularly enjoy watching it. Not overnight, of course. But in time, He took charge because the offender made my Father mad, too.
I changed schools in the ninth grade and left my best friends on the other side of town. We moved on up, so the kids I was used to were not so well-heeled and snooty as the ones I then found myself in the midst of. However, there was a boy I had grown up around in my freshman class in high school the next year. Our families got together fairly regularly when we were in elementary school as our mothers were long-time friends. We will call him Harry. Harry was in my home room along with the entire football team. They all wore their letter jackets even in Texas September when the temperatures still hover near 100 degrees. There were no assigned seats that I knew of in home room. But Danny Hoover (not his real name), half-back extraordinaire, came in one particular morning and saw me sitting in what he moments later decided was his desk. "Make like a sewer and get the @#@# out of here," he said, sweat beading on his forehead, dripping hubris like anointing oil all over his upper lip.
Of course, I moved. Good old Harry said nothing. Pretended he didn't know me so well. Completely ashamed, I headed to the bathroom at lunch and ate mine there. For several days. I thought I was what Danny called me. My family asked me questions at dinner with only harumphs for answers.
"What is wrong with you, Kay?" my father asked a few days later. "You aren't yourself."
"Nothing." How could I tell even him what someone said to me.
"Yes, there is." Daddy put his arms around me. The killer response. So I blubbered the entire story into his shoulder.
My daddy was mad. Like someone had stuck his finger into Daddy's eye on purpose. "This boy will apologize to you tomorrow!"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Daddy went Braveheart, and it was a little scary.
"What is this kid's name?" Daddy demanded.
"Danny Hoover," I replied.
My father proceeded to call every Hoover in the phone book until he found the one with a kid named Danny who went to my high school.
"Your son will apologize to my daughter tomorrow or I will know the reason why!" Click. Done.
A rather drooping Danny Hoover was waiting for me at my locker the next morning. Still the jacket without the flair. Head down. Mumbling at first.
"What did you say?" Forgive me, but it felt good.
"Sorry I said that to you yesterday." Not much bravado, but my young lady heart had healing poured over it.
I know more about who I am now and Danny wouldn't have had the same power over me today, though I'm sure it would hurt....my slapping, him, I mean. (Ahem) More importantly, I know I am a child of the Most High God. With that comes the responsibility of acting and reacting like He would have me to. That means leaving retribution and justice up to Him, knowing I am my Lord's beloved. I go forward in forgiveness, dropping off those who would not pursue good with me, and keep on holding Abba's hand.
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