“Be as kind as God has been to you." ~ Ephesians 4:31-32
In Jada’s neighborhood, sirens sang
more than birds. Each morning on the way to school, she walked past homeless
bodies and shuttered windows - hoodie up, eyes down, carrying herself like someone who expected
trouble any minute. Others
called her “fiery,” unaware of the hidden scars that’d shaped her.
Her dad left when she was born, her mom worked long hours when
she wasn’t sleeping, and her older brother found trouble the way shadows appear
at dusk. Jada didn’t cry about any of it; that was for kids who had someone to
hear them.
At school, sarcasm became her shield. If
someone tried to get close, she pushed them away first. Rejection hurt less
when she was the one handing it out.
One afternoon, a boy joked about her brother getting locked
up again. Before thinking, her fist connected with his right eye.
The walk home after the meeting with the
principal was strangely quiet. Jada expected yelling. Instead, her mother
sighed. "Baby, when hurt people hurt others," she said, her
voice gentle yet firm, "someone has to stop the cycle."
Jada didn’t respond, but her mother's words lingered long after the
conversation ended.
That evening, she sat on the apartment steps,
watching the neighborhood drift toward darkness. Soon, the boy she'd punched
walked down the sidewalk, slowing when he saw her. "Why'd you hit me?" he asked.
He studied her for a moment. "Maybe,"
he
said. "Or maybe people have messed with you for so long you expect it
from everyone."
Jada opened her
mouth to argue, but no words came. The boy nodded once and kept walking.
No insults. No threats. Just understanding. His response
unsettled her more than any fight ever had.
That night she lay awake listening to distant sirens and the
hum of traffic outside her window. Her mother's words kept returning. “Hurt
people hurt others.” The truth stung. For the first time, she wondered if
she had become part of the hurt she hated.
The next day, nothing felt magically different. The
neighborhood was the same. Her problems were still waiting for her. But when
the boy smiled at her in the hallway, Jada did something she normally wouldn’t ever
have done. She walked over.
"Sorry about your
eye," she said softly. He grinned. "It's getting better."
It wasn't much. Just a few words. But in a place where anger
spread easily, kindness felt like rebellion. As Jada headed to class, she
realized healing didn't begin when all the pain disappeared. It began when
someone chose not to pass that pain on.
Lord, help me carry my hurts without passing
them on. Teach me to turn my pain into patience, my anger into understanding,
and my fear into courage. Heal the broken places in my heart and guide me to
break the cycle of hurt. Amen
