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When something undesirable happens to me  and repeats itself in several different events, I pay attention. A theme lights up like an ember in the center of my mind and I know there is a lesson headed my way.

Last weekend I went to an event called “Sistas”, a Christian conference for women. I’ve never been to this sort of thing before. Naive and heavily pregnant me thought a crowd of thousands of women gathered to get their spiritual mojo on would result in a bunch of “pardon me” “oh no, you go first” when it was time for us to file into the auditorium on our first night.  I was shocked to discover it was more like a stampede and my belly presented itself as a vulnerable target for all of those elbows, purses, and power-packed hips. My friend grabbed my hand and pulled my bewildered self along with the group so I wouldn’t get lost.  And then I felt a shove. Behind me some large, heavily made-up women were threatening me, telling me “to get out of their way.”  

In the few moments between attempting to protect my belly and process what was occuring, the line opened up and I was pulled away from the conflict. But the incident stayed with me. As a matter of practice I don’t engage in conflict unless it is going to lead to resolution. If someone is being aggressive, I consider my actions carefully because fighting fire with fire only works in very specific situations. I don’t find satisfaction in winning an argument; I find satisfaction in reaching a point of understanding.

 

But still…getting bullied always leaves a buzzing in my blood. I find my mind feeding off the lingering adrenaline and composing all kinds of Zorro-like verbal responses (the sword swish of my words leaving a Z scarred into my assailant’s chest ).

 

An ember was lit. The conference went on. No more incidents occurred. A great time was had by all. I felt inspired and challenged. Then I came home and had my first negative ‘Twitter’ experience. A stranger (another writer) had snippily corrected my grammar on a late night ‘tweet’ I wrote regarding our ability to imagine the wildness of heaven. Grammar is a weakness of mine and I don’t mind being corrected on it but this incident felt like another shove in a crowded line – unnecessary and unexpected. Usually I would turn the other cheek or use the opportunity to try to build a bridge with the other person.  I didn’t. I let it get to me. The ember threw out a spark. I began to see a theme emerging.

 

Yesterday while sitting in my van with Sol and Zaviera, I was accosted by a group of boys. I could not believe that these ten-year-olds were challenging a pregnant woman to get out and smack them. The leader of the pack had the dull eyes of a brain-damaged pitbull. I could see the future in those eyes; a time when this child’s body had grown big enough to accomodate the blunt anger. It frightened me.  It also filled me with that particular brand of maternal rage when I spot a potential threat to my children and the world they will inhabit.

Ember burst into flame.

 

Later that night as Dan and I discussed the incident I said, “there is something I am supposed to learn here.”

 

Beneath my anger, I was feeling regret. One of the prayers that has always spoken to me on an all-purpose level is the St. Francis of Assisi Prayer:

 

God, make an instrument of your peace

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy;

 

Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love.

 

For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying we are born to eternal life.

 

The prayer speaks to all of my greatest challenges and longings. I failed to call upon the spirit of this prayer in dealing with the kids. I failed to do it with what I perceived as being bullied by a ‘grammar snob’ on Twitter. And while on the surface I appeared to have handled the women at the conference with the spirit of forgiveness and peace, in my heart I really wanted to step on their toes and snarl.

 

Last night I rested in the dark and realized that there are two fires inside of me. One full of rage at the injustices in the world; the petty ways we abuse one another on a daily basis and the violence we are capable of on nightmarish scales.

The other fire is one of clarity. I understand that this is the nature of the world and in that understanding I find the humor, love and humility to ‘be the peace’ I want in the world.

 

The lesson? I’ve been throwing kindling onto the fire of clarity but not feeding it logs. It flares up in brief, illuminating flashes while beneath the surface the other fire has been slowly burning, waiting for its opportunity. When I am tired, when the season of my life is dry and the winds are howling, all it takes is a match thrown out the window for that rage to catch hold and spread destruction.

 

It is an example of when it is right to fight fire with fire. I don’t believe the rage needs to be put out. It has its own beauty but it needs the clarity to keep it from being destructive.

 

One illuminates and one inspires. They contain one another and when they grow in equal measure, they are a powerful force.