When the Laugh was on Me

As I’ve mentioned before, I grew up on a farm. There was always work to be done, but somehow, I managed to find plenty of time for mischief. I was the middle child of three, and I had a well-earned reputation for aggravating both my older and younger sisters.

We lived in an old farmhouse that was set up on blocks. I happily recall times when a mama dog would crawl underneath the house to have her puppies. What joy I felt when Daddy would squeeze himself under the house and bring those precious little babies out! Of course, we eventually had to rehome them all, but until then, I had the pleasure of enjoying every single one of them.

On the back of that old farmhouse was a screened porch and a bathroom that had been added sometime along the way. I still remember when Daddy installed a shower. I thought it was the most glorious invention ever! No more tub baths! But I digress.

One afternoon, I was playing in the dirt near that back porch, squatted down with my little Matchbox cars and having myself a grand old time. Suddenly, I heard a commotion coming from inside the house. Naturally, being the curious child I was, I stood on my tiptoes and tried to see what was happening.

Apparently, my older sister had done something to upset our usually even-tempered Mama. Now, I don’t recall what my sister had done, but I distinctly remember what happened next.

The voices grew louder, and before I knew it, Mama and my sister appeared on the back porch, just above my head.

And Mama was giving my sister a switching! Now, you must understand that I was generally the one on the receiving end of Mama’s discipline. So, seeing my older sister getting her turn was just about the funniest thing I’d ever seen.

I laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed some more.

I laughed so hard I literally fell over in the dirt!

Finally! Somebody besides Wanda Sue was getting a switching!

Well, my celebration was short-lived. Before I could even catch my breath, I heard those dreaded words.

“WANDA SUE! GET IN HERE!”

Now, for those of you who grew up in the South, you know exactly what it means when your mama calls you by both names. It generally isn’t an invitation for a piece of pie. The next thing I knew, I was in line for a switching of my own! Apparently, Mama didn’t find my amusement nearly as entertaining as I did.

There’s no telling how many flyswatters, wooden spoons, and switches that woman wore out on my backside over the years. As a matter of fact, I have a rather flat rear to this day, and I’m convinced that’s why!

Looking back, I can laugh about that afternoon. But I can also see something in that little girl that I’m not particularly proud of. I wasn’t just laughing because the situation was funny. I was delighted that somebody else was getting punished instead of me. And if I’m truthful, I suspect there are still times when that little girl shows up in the grown woman I’ve become.

Isn’t it easy to recognize someone else’s mistakes? To think they deserve the consequences coming their way? Perhaps even to feel a little satisfaction when those consequences arrive?

Yet when we’re the ones who stumble, we hope for understanding, forgiveness, and another chance.

That’s where I see the difference between retribution and redemption. Retribution focuses on what we deserve. Redemption reminds us of the grace God offers, even when we fall short.

I have made plenty of poor choices in my lifetime, and despite my years and supposed wisdom, I still make them. I am grateful that my Heavenly Father doesn’t simply stand over me with a switch, waiting for my next mistake.

Instead, through Christ, He offers forgiveness, mercy, and the opportunity to begin again. And perhaps He also asks me to extend a little of that same grace to others. I learned something that afternoon on the back porch of our old farmhouse. Laughing at somebody else’s misfortune can come back to bite you. Sometimes quite literally!

But the greater lesson has taken me a lifetime to understand.

It’s easy to want justice for someone else and mercy for ourselves. God’s grace challenges us to offer that same mercy to others. That doesn't mean there aren't consequences for our wrongdoings. It just means that grace after those consequences can invite a bit of remorse and hopefully, a revised attitude.

I think that’s a lesson worth remembering, whether we’re eight years old playing in the dirt or an old gal still learning how to be more like Jesus.