Riding Jeep, Holding A Grudge

How could he make my life any more miserable than this? I had to spend the whole day riding with Chuck, jumping out occasionally to go change the direction of the blade on the front of the Jeep so that he could plow the roads that were rutted and washed out by thunderstorms. I was trying to give him the cold shoulder, trying to avoid talking to him, or letting him talk to me. I was mad. I was holding a grudge half the size of Yavapai County.

I worked at Prescott Pines Camp, in north-central Arizona, each summer of my high school years. Chuck was our boss, our father figure. In hind sight I can say that he was one of my favorite mentors of all time, certainly in the top five of my whole life. But I was blind to his tactic, to his skill, to his loving determination on this occasion. I was just plain mad.

It all started a few nights earlier. Two of us staff guys decided to go into town for the church youth meeting. We invited a couple staff gals to go along with us. We thought we had permission, that none of us had any duties to keep us at the camp. But when we drove back into camp about 9:30 that evening we saw in the beam of our headlights, Chuck, standing in the middle of the road. He was quite upset with us, it became obvious. The girls were supposed to have run the snack shack that night, and he didn’t know we had left.

The next morning at breakfast Chuck read off the work list for everybody. He made a big deal of my assignment, making me an example to everyone, I guess. He announced, “And I have a special job for Dave today, one that I have been saving for over a year, now. Dave, you’ll be cleaning out the root cellar.” I had worked there a couple years already and I didn’t even know we had a root cellar. I knew all about the maggot pit, where we dumped all the garbage. I knew plenty about the sewer lines and drain field. But nothing about a root cellar.

In short order I found out. It was full of rotten potatoes and onions. Someone had loaded it up a couple years earlier, and never used the produce. All the wire mesh shelves were loaded with rotten, drippy, smelly mush. And I got to haul it all out and clean it up. That was the worst job ever. The whole day my anger was smoldering and brewing, thinking I was being punished for a wrong that I didn’t even know I had done.

So then, it was the next day when Chuck decided to have me ride along in the Jeep. He knew how mad I was. And he wanted to lovingly draw me out of my bitterness and “fix” our relationship. I know I didn’t make it easy for him. But he didn’t give up. Why? Because he had grown to love and appreciate me, I think. And me him, too. But I wasn’t going to let love do any magic that day. No, I had a grudge to bear, and I wasn’t going to let go of it.

Holding a grudge used to be my worst enemy. It chewed me up inside. It made me bitter and spiteful. I would dream and imagine of all kinds of ways to get even, to settle the score. And if getting even wasn’t possible, which it usually wasn’t, then I would make real sure that anyone who hurt me would see and know how much I despised them. Wow! But I was only hurting myself. And oh my! I must have been a jerk of a guy to like, sometimes.

“Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry…. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” (Ephesians 4:26-32)