Rejected and Ridiculed

"They ridiculed me over and over again,

like godless people would do,

grinding their teeth at me."

Ps 35:16, CEB

Summer of 1980

I spent the last few days of the summer vacation in utter bliss. I smiled constantly, giggled often, and enjoyed all the preparations for the upcoming school year -- the first one outside my family's bubble. I felt at peace with God and felt confident that, after the year I spent at home with Manmie, school life was going to be easy, fun, and exciting.

Thoughts of future friends, fun projects, exciting games, and new discoveries flooded my mind. I soon found myself only daydreaming and eagerly anticipating the first day of school.

First Day of School

After praying that God would help me shine for Him, I kissed Manmie goodbye and shouted out that it was going to be a really, really good day at school.

How could I have ever been so mistaken?

Not a soul prepared me for what I faced on that first day of school. The best way I can describe it is this: Alexander and I switched places in Judith Viorst's story Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. The only difference is, I was trapped in Haiti and could not even think of moving to Australia.

The weather was gloomy. Dogs were barking. The pile of refuse seemed a bit larger than before. It was as if everything missed the memo that this was supposed to be an exciting day for me. Nevertheless, I resolutely walked to school sporting a generous grin and eagerly looking for friendly faces on the road . . .

There were none.

At L'Ecole Primaire Mixte Bethanie (the school I was to attend), as if on cue, friendliness took a rain check that morning. Everywhere I looked, numerous pairs of eyes were looking at me as though I had just landed from Mars or the Moon, except it felt more like I was cow dung judging from the disgusted expressions on the faces of the other children.

Why are they looking at me like that?
Did I forget to wipe food particles off my mouth?
Am I ugly?
Is my uniform ill-fitting?
What could be wrong with me?
Lord, please help me!

Those were troubling thoughts for an almost 6-year old boy. Not being accustomed to spending time with a lot of children, I counseled myself this ordeal would simply take a few minutes and those kids would soon want to talk to me and play with me.

Again, I could not have been more wrong!

When the bell rang for recess, it took seconds for the class to be emptied of little bodies. I soon joined them on the playground but nobody would talk to me. Then, the inevitable happened.

I opened my mouth, said hello, and introduced myself.

Quick as lightning, bona fide laughter from a trio of boys met my attempt at friendship and a nasty grin replaced the scowling face worn by a fourth boy who looked like a ringleader.

"We have no room for sissies around here," he angrily spat.

Sissies?

I quickly accessed my brain for that piece of data and found I didn't know the meaning of that word. Humiliated, I turned and walked away to the sound of their hooting and howling behind my back. I attempted conversation with three more groups of children and, though they were not as nasty as the first four boys, they still treated me as though I was the weirdest freak on the planet.

Everywhere I turned, there was an overtly zealous hand blocking me from inclusion and intimacy.

I found a shady spot and stayed there, rejected and heartbroken. On that fateful day, I was no longer a child; I grew up instantaneously. I became an abused grownup trapped in a child's body. I became a survivor and as such, thought it might be best not to love those kids. Then, Christ reminded me I was His follower and had waved lovelessness a hearty farewell.

So, I silently prayed, "Lord, what is wrong with me? Why do those kids hate me so much? You say I need to follow You but how can I ever love my classmates when they act so beastly toward me? I want to go back to the comfort of home and to that which is familiar and nice. Help me, Lord; help me now! Give me Your strength!"

I wish I could say it was the last time I prayed that prayer. I did not get an answer that day but I was given a glimpse of Christ's sufferings on the cross for me when . . .

"He was despised and rejected by people, 

A man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering; 

Like one from whom people hide their faces, 

He was despised and we esteemed Him not." 

(Isaiah 53:3)

O Lord, may this follower never forget the intimacy of partaking in Your sufferings! May rejection and ridicule become sweet to my taste and dimmed by the light of Your glory and grace! Amen.