Sitting at the lanyard table-- craftily tying two pieces of plastic string into a workable criss-cross pattern-- I began to joke with a fellow counselor, Austin, about his fallen promise. A camper, one of Austin’s boys, was boasting about the elaborate lanyard Austin had finished the day before. I slyly turned my face towards Austin’s end of the picnic table and asked, “Why in the world are you working on lanyards when you’re supposed to be diligently working on an awesome friendship bracelet for me?” Austin looked up from the lanyard he was piecing together and coolly quipped, “I thought you already had one.”

His nonchalance stirred the slumbering heckler within me. I turned to the campers seated all around me at the craft table and asked, “Kids, what do we call a person who says they’re going to do something but doesn’t?” They caught onto my game immediately, answering in unison with, “A liar!”
“That’s right! A liar,” I spoke laughingly, “and who is the Father of Lies?”
One camper guessed, “Mr. Austin?”
“No, silly, but close enough!” I chortled. (Since I was working at a Christian summer camp, I decided to teach this particular Biblical reference to unsuspecting children.) “The Bible says that the Devil is the Father of Lies and that when he speaks lies, he is speaking his native tongue. Do you know what that means?”
An honest ten year old spoke for the group, “It means that Satan speaks a different language?”
“Not exactly. It means that when Satan speaks in lies, it his natural to him. So natural that it is his normal way of speaking, just like our usual way of communicating to each other is with English.”

Austin knew I was teasing him. And I knew my out of context Bible lesson was irritating him with every developing sentence. So I continued. “Who else is the Father of Lies, at least when it comes to friendship and threaded jewelry?”
One of Austin’s campers chimed in, “Austin! Ha ha ha!!”
Austin couldn’t take it anymore, he was digging through his backpack pulling out string and mumbling threats and promises at the same time, “UGGGGGGHHHHH, I’ll sit right here right now and make you a bracelet. I’ll make you… whatever colors you want, what colors DO you want? I’ll… I’ll finish it instead of taking my boys to Crawdad Creek this morning. They won’t mind… I would have made you a friendship bracelet… if I had known… I am NOT a liar, NOT the Father of Lies or anything liar related……..”

He was frazzled. Mission complete. Minutes later, I walked into the camp kitchen to fill up my Nalgene, and as I was scooping ice into my bottle I shared the story with Austin’s younger sister. “Abby, I think I just made your brother ridiculously frustrated and angry with me”
She was laughing already, “What happened exactly?”
I replayed the conversation and had just arrived at the name calling portion of my tale when Abby interrupted, “Austin hates being called a liar.”
“Yes, I can tell that. I think I just learned that factoid the hard way.”
“No, no, you don’t understand. Austin really hates being called a liar. Our mom used to call him that all the time. Now it really really bothers him.”

There. Right in that fraction of time, I saw the truth. Not for the first time but more fiercely than ever before. When we don’t deal with our past we cannot function in our future.

Austin isn’t an oddity, he is the norm. I see myself in him, in this very story. There must be hundreds of things that scarred me in my childhood, my awkward teen days, and during my protracted college years. Some of these things I have been brave enough to deal with. Many are still hidden, not to be seen or heard from until an unanticipated conversation awakens those wounds. My brother recently mentioned that marriage is the battleground that will rouse most of our past issues. Perhaps, that is the harshness and beauty of marriage. For in that sacred bond we cannot hide ourselves any longer. All of the hidden, ugly issues will eventually surface and when they do will we choose to deal with our wounded places?

Wounds emerge during mundane conversations, diabolical arguments, and moments of solitude; there is no rhythm to their materialization. All we have is a moment’s choice to face our past in all its vicious repulsiveness. May we look into our past and bravely forgive. May we recall painful memories and invite Jesus into the hurt. May we be better in the future because we courageously faced our past.

For those who are married and navigating the battlefield daily, may you give your spouse love and mercy. May you be brave enough to grant forgiveness instead of tally-marks. May you help your better half seek Christ’s healing every time hidden wounds emerge. And for the single, let us deal with our pasts within the radiant community given to us by God. Allow the Lord to awaken ugly things so that we can battle for our whole hearts.