The family gathers to celebrate life. A shared history bridges the gap of miles that separate us on a daily basis. Once pleasantries are exchanged, we settle into our chairs and lose ourselves in days gone by. Adult playtime begins through reminiscing. The stories of our childhood and youth rejuvenate our hearts and breathe life into our souls. 

If the right combination of adults gathers, the folklore of my brother’s heroism is passed to a younger generation of eager listeners. Or perhaps some have never heard the legendary tale. The memories of those gathered are rekindled as the first few sentences are spoken. “Do you remember the boat?” That’s all it takes. We remember. 

I was a young child wanting to be like my older brother and cousin. We were at the home of an aunt and uncle. A boat on a trailer was parked in the yard. It seemed the perfect playground and imagination station, perhaps for pretending to be pirates on the open sea. 

We had barely set sail on the fantasy when the enemy attacked in full force. My brother and cousin had the frame of mind to abandon ship. I, however, paralyzed by fear and pain, stood screaming and crying on the deck. When my brother saw I could not move, he climbed back into the boat to battle and get me to safety. 

The enemy was a nest of yellow jackets angry that we dare invade their sanctuary. The screams brought adults running from the house. While all three children took hits, I was clearly the prime target. I did not feel like a victor as 18 stingers were removed from my body. Mom carefully covered each wound with a baking soda and water paste as I softly (and probably not so softly) cried. The purpose of the paste was to draw out the poison left by each yellow jacket sting. 

I’ve had more than five decades to reflect on that experience. Yellow jackets no longer strike panic and terror in my heart. In fact, sometimes I long for simple physical stingers than can be removed and covered by paste as opposed to verbal stingers that burrow under my skin and spread poison. While words do have the power to heal or destroy, we decide how to respond to the incoming strikes. 

A friend recently shared a Bible verse I keep on my wall right in front of my desk, “A person’s wisdom yields patience; it is to one’s glory to overlook an offense” (Prov. 19:11). 

We constantly pray for the safety of our missionaries. Would you pray today for those who are living in the aftermath of verbal attacks that have left them deeply wounded? 

Father, 

Heal the hearts of your servants who are enduring incredible pain today. And make us ever mindful of every word we speak. May our words honor You. Give us courage to overlook the offenses of others. In Jesus’ name, amen 

By Sandy Wisdom-Martin