Month: September 2017

“That was the straw that broke the camel’s back!”

“That was the last straw!”

These are phrases I grew up hearing quite often and I’ve used them myself but usually in a flippant manner with no intention of truly calling it quits (there have been a few exceptions over the years). Recently while talking to a friend about a very painful situation in her life I realized how powerful the “straw” really can be. We all reach the straw test with someone at some point in our lives. It’s the invisible emotional line that is crossed one too many times and it can be a game changer.

In case you aren’t familiar with this idiom here’s a parable I found at Bloomsbury-International.com regarding the straw:

Centuries ago in the Middle East, straw (dried grass or grain) was used for weaving or building and could be bought and sold by traders, who transported their goods using camels. An Arabian story described a man who made his camel carry as much straw as possible. Still unsatisfied with the huge weight being carried by the animal, the man added a single last piece of straw. This last straw proved too much for the camel to bear and he collapsed with a broken back, leaving the man with no way to take his goods to market. The story is a metaphor for the times when someone faces repeated problems or is badly treated again and again until finally, one small thing pushes them to the point of explosion. They might get angry and retaliate or decide “enough is enough” and try to change their situation. We use this idiom to highlight the problem that finally created too much pressure to cope with, saying “it was the last straw” or “it was the straw that broke the camel’s back”

Everyone has experienced this right? Our patience, our trust, or perhaps our love is tested over and over until we grow weary of trying. We reach a limit—and we never know what the limit is until we reach it—and that’s the scary part. Of course it can go the other way and we are the ones pushing and pushing until we push someone too far and create an explosion or a chasm or both.

No doubt there are countless excuses for our behavior—sometimes we know exactly why we are pressing an issue and are determined to do so but sometimes it seems we can’t stop even though we know we should.

I believe as I look at my own life experiences and ponder my straw moments, pride is probably the biggest factor at play. Without fail, the times when I’m ready to walk, to quit, to throw in the towel are those instances when I feel betrayed, unappreciated, embarrassed, rejected or unloved. In defense of my own pride I normally react in one of two ways—I either retreat or retaliate. And let me say at this point, there are situations and people we SHOULD get away from because they are toxic and unhealthy.

Yes, we all can reach the point of exasperation with our spouse, children, parents, boss, friends or any number of circumstances—even our home church. I believe our last straw moments (given we aren’t talking about a toxic or dangerous situation) are opportunities to grow personally in our faith as Jesus followers if we can get beyond our own smugness and also the need to be right at all costs.

Of course there are those situations with someone whom we love deeply and they once again break our heart, our prayers appear unanswered and we want to just give up and walk away because we’ve had so many straw moments we’ve lost count and yet we know Jesus is saying, “Love them anyway.” And so we put our frustration and humiliation back where it belongs—at the feet of Jesus—and we forgive and we love them anyway. We are sometimes brought to our knees in the midst of a straw moment and I guess that’s good because that is exactly how we are to live.

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place

    and gave him the name that is above every name,

 that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,

    in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

 and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,

    to the glory of God the Father.

Philippians 2:9-11

C. Deni Johnson

Recently while talking to a friend I found myself telling her a story I hadn’t thought of in years. I honestly don’t remember what Lauren said that sparked my recollection of this memory and subsequent story, but as the tears welled up in my eyes, I found myself in a bit of a personal revelation that surprised even me.

When I was about five years old, my dad’s mother passed away. One of the household items my dad received was my grandmother’s large oak sideboard. My parents placed it on the second floor in a storage area. I remember climbing those stairs and playing in that dirty, dingy area many times and without fail, I always took notice of the sideboard. It seemed so grand and elegant to me.

Fast forward ten years, my dad is gone and my mother has remarried and we have moved off the farm to a new place. Honestly, the last thing on my mind at the time was my grandmother’s sideboard and I guess I never questioned where it was—it wasn’t sitting in the dining room or anywhere else in the new house.

Strangely it wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties and married that I began thinking about that old, oak sideboard. I remember asking my mom where it was; what happened to it? She said she left it behind when she remarried—she never liked it and didn’t move it. It had been left behind. The only physical remnant I had from my grandmother was long gone. I felt sick to my stomach. And I have no explanation as to why it took me so many years to inquire about it. I suppose I can reason that because my life had been in so much turmoil beginning in my early teen years the whereabouts of an antique sideboard just wasn’t on my radar. I take little solace in that fact.

A few years later I went on a hunt for an antique sideboard and found one that was in good condition for a price we could afford. It’s very different than my grandmother’s German-inspired sideboard. This one has Queen-Anne legs and is much smaller than I remember my grandmother’s being. But my perspective may be skewed. We bought it 20 years ago this year and even though it is a little wobbly and doesn’t fit my décor or current style preference, I can’t bear the thought of selling or giving it away. In the midst of downsizing and getting rid of so much stuff, I can’t even contemplate parting with this piece of furniture. It has no personal family history for us—but as bazaar as it sounds, I guess it symbolizes—in a tangible way—my connection to my dad and his mom. It has served as a physical substitute for the sideboard left behind so long ago.

The tears that welled up in my eyes when telling this story to Lauren were not born from the sadness of not having my grandmother’s sideboard. The tears are about connection—connection to family whom we have known well and to those whom we have either known briefly or never at all. I was just a little girl when my grandmother went to be with Jesus. I never really knew her, but I honor her and I’ll probably just hang on to this substitute sideboard and think about her every time I look at it.

Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. “Honor your father and mother”—which is the first commandment with a promise—“so that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.”

Ephesians 6:1-3

C. Deni Johnson