The Lord Looks on the Heart

The day happened seven years ago.  I can still clearly picture myself sitting behind the steering wheel in my hot minivan in the parking lot of the church.  The air was stagnant inside, as it sometimes is, when a car sunbathes atop asphalt for a few hours.  My kids and I were waiting for my youngest brother, Jeff, to come out to the car after our Sunday meetings.  Jeff opened the front passenger side door and jumped up onto the seat. He immediately turned his face away from me. “What’s wrong?” was my instant response to the heaviness that seemed to surround him.

Jeffrey was seventeen years old at the time and always had drama of some kind surrounding him. After being teased and bullied at the schools where he was from, my parents decided it would be best if he moved and started fresh somewhere else. I happened to live across the country with my own little family and I was the most reasonable solution. While the arrangement seemed to be working out, there were certainly challenges.

My brother turned his head slightly toward me and mumbled something about being fine. In the brief moment that he was facing me I saw the tears in his eyes and the look of someone trying to hold it together. “You are obviously not fine.” I quickly responded, feeling a little exasperated. The big sister in me wanted to fix everything for him.

Jeff finally let the hurt burst from him as he explained the scene that had just taken place. One of his church leaders had pulled him aside to give him some “helpful tips”. He let Jeff know that if he would just walk in a more masculine way and talk in a more masculine way, people would not make fun of him or tease him.

To some that might not seem like such a big deal. For my baby brother, Jeffrey, it was a direct hit to his self-esteem. He had worked so hard to fit in to this new place. He just wanted to be accepted for who he was. He didn’t want to try to be who everyone else thought he should be. It was all physically exhausting. To hear those words from an adult, a person who he thought he could trust, was even more shattering. The very way he walked and talked told people that he was not “masculine”.

I couldn’t just sit there and let this happen. I handed my keys over to the crushed young man and told him to take the kids home, I had to talk to Jeff’s leader. He mildly protested out of embarrassment. I told him that I would take care of it and sent him on his way. I am sure he cringed as he watched me march into the building. What he couldn’t see was the desperate prayer I was sending up on his behalf and on mine.

As I walked into the church building I quickly scanned the area inside the doors. My good friend, Sherise, was visiting with a group of people nearby. Her son was friends with Jeff, and she knew him well. I approached her and quietly asked her if she could help me. My intention was not to corner the man that made the comments, but to have someone with me that would have a calming presence. I hurriedly explained the situation before seeking out Jeff’s leader.

It didn’t take me long to track him down. I was trembling a little and obviously upset. I am sure my request to meet with him was startling. We ducked into a side room and sat down. Sherise walked behind me and stood with her hands on my shoulders. I felt her strength and support instantly.

With slow tears coming down my face I explained to this man that my brother was hurting. I told him that Jeff had a history of being bullied and just wanted to be accepted. While his comments to my brother were intended to be helpful, they did not come from a place of love or understanding. This man did not fully comprehend my words at that moment, but I could see that he was considering them.  I went home and considered my words as well.  Many times I had made comments to my brother that I told myself were helpful, when in reality were not coming from a place of love or understanding.

A few months went by and Jeff’s leader apologized to him. He explained that he had not taken the time to get to know Jeff, but after watching him, could see what a good and caring young man he was. Jeff and I had already forgiven him, but I know Jeff appreciated his apology.

That Sunday afternoon a seed was planted in my heart. Being masculine does not mean that a man plays football and can lift heavy weights, just like being feminine does not mean that a woman wears red lipstick and high heels. Being described as masculine or feminine means that a person honors and respects the divine role of their gender. I needed to change those cultural definitions in my head so that I could more fully love my brother.  This lesson has stayed with me and I am grateful for it.  I have learned to look past the stereotypes of our culture and see that people are trying. The Lord loves us and does not look on the outward appearance, but looks on the heart.