Untitled

It is time for me to explain fully the title of this blog. It is time for all of this to come out.

I grew up slightly overweight. I was always self-concious about who I was. I doubted everyone, not knowing if people really were accepting me as a friend. Never feeling truly involved or connected, I would rarely make attempts to fit in, despite "fitting in" quite well. An opportunity arose for me to take a week of my summer vacation and head out with my Boy Scout Troop to a summer camp. Nervous as anything, I took the chance to step away from the comfort of my family and home and spend time with peers I felt so foreign to.

The week went well. I was fitting in and even bonding with some of the older boys in the troop. There was one older boy, however, whom I idolized. He was the definition of what I wanted to be when I aged 5 or 6 more years. Strong, confident, and a leader, I took in his presence each and every time. This is completely normal. Every young boy finds older young men to idolize, to want to become. Rarely does the older boy recognize the vulnerability of the younger and take advantage of it. In most cases, the elder takes in the child and "mentors" him in such an informal and impactful way that therapists and fathers only wish they could do.

I was not a part of the "most cases". It occurred towards the end of the week. A couple of us boys were hanging back at the camp site, not having anything to do for an hour or two. Some were sitting lazily by the fire pit planning the next shenanigans for the night while others ventured off in hopes of encountering something exciting near the campsite. I had joined a few peers around a camp table, playing various card games learned throughout the week. The youth leader that I looked up to so much had joined us, much to my excitement. Perhaps he had finally been impressed by me. The inner boy in me was hopeful that I would finally be accepted by him. After all, the week was already going well, many of my peers had appeared to accept me, why couldn't the leader of us all, the cool slick 17 year old? I started my attempt to gain his attention and thus approval by making a sarcastic comment to him. Something I have learned through this all is that sarcasm is the best way to subtly protect one's own lack of confidence. At any rate, once the comment was out there in open air I could only wait to see if he would respond. He did, much to my delight. Unfortunately, I was naive and didn't realize that was merely his personality, not his acceptance of me.. The jabs continued flying just as fast as cards were laid down and taken up. The game of Spit was getting heated, and my excitement in beginning to successfully win over his approval was only growing. And then the threat was sent out, a warning that I chose not to head.

"If you continue Grant I am going to have to tie you to a tree."

Most certainly not a threat. By no means, it couldn't have been. I didn't see it as one, nor to this day do I believe it was necessarily meant to be a threat intended to hurt.

I took the challenge. Clearly he was trying to see how far I would go to win his approval. I had fought for it for a few years now, I wasn't going to back down. Moreover, all eyes at the table were on me. Suddenly, the first time ever, I was the center of attention amongst a group of boys who constantly rowed back and forth vying for the very spot I was in. I couldn't back down now, not when I had gotten this far. So the sarcasm and jokes continued. The remainder of the event is kind of a blur to me. The tape came out, the boys rallied up, and then the tree was right there in my face. It was harmless at first, but then fear washed over. The poking started, then the crude sexual jokes were tossed around. This wasn't a game, this was torture of one's mind, dignity, and confidence. Once the stick was brought in, my mind just shut it out. And I was damned proud of myself, I never cried once in front of any of the boys.

I tell you this story not to bring judgement on my tormentors. But this event defines what being poor and meek means. The anger that boiled up as I remembered this event three years ago. The humility I have had to learn to try and forgive each and every boy. The weakness I showed not only then, but also now to God to begin healing.

For 6 years I held this inside, telling no one. I became a zombie in many respects, holding back feelings and lacking any response to emotions one had towards me. I was a wallflower amidst anger, regret, and sadness. But when it all boiled to the surface, once I began to let the pain out and actually feel it. Once I finally relived what had happened to me, I started to feel free. And I opened up. Today I am a wild thing, sometimes too wild. From traveling all around the world, to meeting new people, to drinking a little toooo much ;) I have become the open and honest man I am because of my release. I have a passion for the poor and meek of this world, either in spirit or physical circumstances, because I have been poor and meek myself. I have felt the outside pressures of this world crashing in on me in relentless waves that I felt as though I would drown. I do not know what it is like to wonder if I will have enough money to feed myself next week. I do not know what it is to hope that one $50 loan will rescue me from my poverty. And I do not know what it is like to grow up not knowing who my parents were having both been taken by AIDS. But I do know what pain is. Many know more about it than I, but I have begun to understand it in a way few do. And I can thank this story for that.

This is a blog about pain. This is a blog about suffering. This is a blog about anger. But this is also a blog  about

hope
forgiveness
happiness
love
trust

This blog is real, as real as that raw hard emotion you feel right now, be it anger or happiness. Be it loneliness or security. Micro finance, development, poverty, traveling, this world. It all can be summed up in this story. All have stories like this. Triumph over this story, and you have triumphed over the world. I don't want to paint such a pretty picture, this story has come at a cost, a cost I would do anything to trade away. But it is a cost I have taken, and here I am standing strong. Being poor and meek runs through my blood, just as it does with those of the wealthy and those of the shadows. So take this story with heed. Heed that being poor and meek is not just an action, but a lifestyle, one we all must live.