Don't Poke the Bear

There once was an old man with only one arm, who lived in an rickety log cabin on the edge of the woods, beside a well-travelled path.  He had a pet bear which was tamed to the point that although it was free to wander in the forest, preferred to sit quietly by the man's side.  In front of this odd pairing was a dusty crumpled old hat and a hand-painted sign which said: Best advice you'll ever get!  Please put a donation into the hat.

Every day, a small crowd of passer-by's would gather in front of the old man and his bear.  They would toss coins and bills into the hat and wait for the show to begin.  The old man just sat there saying nothing.  The bear sat beside its master, doing nothing.  Eventually, the crowd would grow restless, shuffling their feet and mumbling among themselves that this man was a con artist.  Only when the crowd reached a fever pitch would the old man stand up and raise his only hand for silence. Staring out over the crowd, in a quiet but stern voice he would say: "Don't poke the bear." With that, he would offer everyone their money back, and gesture towards the bear which was now sitting on the hat, snoozing.  

Everyone agreed that the old man's advice was truly the best they had ever heard, and happily went on their way.  The old man would then sit down and wait.  He sometimes waited for hours for the bear to wake up and wander in to the forest for some food.  The old man had learned the hard way to never poke the bear.

I offer this parable as context to what is in my heart and frizzy little head today.  Why do I insist on learning things the hard way? 

My journey of self discovery includes both re-examination of self beliefs that I hold fast as the truth, as well as discovery of new truths about myself.  One thing that I have come to realize, is that I, Jan Christianson, like to poke bears.  No, scratch that... I LOVE to poke bears!  

Bears come in all forms, shapes and sizes.  Some are people, others take on the form of past events and still others are events that are yet to happen.  There's nothing I like better than to summon up a crotchety old she bear (memory) and poke it with an accusing finger until it rears up on it's back legs and bites me square on the butt. (I am tempted to say A** for dramatic effect, but I've sworn off swearing so work with me here.)

The old bear grabs me by my "derriere" so I can't  turn around to defend myself; shakes me up before tossing me to one side and stalking off into the past where she lives and prefers not to be disturbed.  And you would think that after multiple episodes of this self-inflicted abuse, I might get a clue and stop poking that bear.  But I don't.  

Some bears walk upright on two legs and disguise themselves as people. People I know, used to know and even people I've never met.  If any of these bears dare to offend my sensibilities, I will poke 'em right in the eye!  Maybe not to their face, but the minute their back is turned, boy do I like to poke at 'em.  Negative comments, gossipping, mumbling to myself and others about how these people bears have (or are going to) done me wrong.  However, my bear poking days are coming to an end.

Self discovery leads to epiphany and I have come to learn that the only bear I've been poking at all my life is me!  I have become a walking, talking poke in the eye, and  it has to stop. No more kneeling at the alter of past mistakes and trespasses. I have handed these over to Jesus Christ and He has wiped these files clean. And, (news flash) Jan Christianson does not know everything, and therefore she's sometimes wrong! Really, really wrong!  But that's o.k., as long as I continue to take a moment to moment inventory, and promptly admit when I've grabbed the wrong end of the stick. (That is a weak metaphor where I am in fact the bear being poked by the stick instead being the poker.)

So, in conclusion; (and believe me, I am as glad as you probably are that I'm wrapping this one up) DON'T POKE THE BEAR!