You Can Sit With Me

Last week my eight-year-old had a particularly sad day. The kids he’d been playing tag with at recess all week suddenly decided they no longer liked him. They told him as much, and in no uncertain terms. “My heart is breaking Mom! They betrayed me!” Justice wailed from the backseat on our drive home. “I just want to take revenge on them!” Hot tears ran down his face and my heart split in two. A little part of me wanted to take revenge on them too.

I’m reminded of social playground politics every week around here. It triggers nauseating flashbacks to my drama-filled school days. I remember feeling betrayed and rejected by girls I thought were my friends. I fretted over who I would sit with at lunch or play with at recess. I still recall the stinging words of the “cool” kids I naively idolized. Watching my children struggle with these same things has me reliving every agonizing moment.

Unfortunately, I have no control over whether or not Justice’s peers include him, but I can encourage my son not to be the one who excludes others. He can be the kid who befriends the lonely and defends the outcast. He can refrain from hurtful words and be inclusive, knowing full well how painful it is to be the one on the outs. I wish I could tell my younger self to be that friend.

With all the drama my son has been experiencing this school year, my husband and I thought it best to revisit our previous conversations with him about kindness and bullying. We assured him retaliation against his peers made him no better than them. We discussed how to stand up for yourself against a bully, and most importantly, how to defend and assist someone who’s a victim of bullying or simply on the receiving end of unkind words. “Saying nothing makes you a silent participant,” I cautioned him. He thought of all his classmates who did nothing to help or include him on the playground that day.

“Mom, have you ever seen someone get bullied?” My heart squeezed. Her face came so suddenly to my mind.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “And I did nothing.” I blinked back tears.

I have many regrets from my junior high years (not the least of which is trying to shape my overgrown eyebrows with a pair of kitchen shears). I made plenty of cringe-worthy choices, cosmetically and fashionably, but it’s the social choices that convict me the most even after all these years.

Her name was Vanessa, and she was tormented relentlessly for three solid years, while I sat back and watched. I told my son if I knew where she was today, I would apologize for my silence. I would tell her:

I have no excuses, other than to say I feared my reputation would suffer if I interceded on your behalf. I was selfish and weak for reasons that don’t matter now in the least. I never laughed at you or cast verbal stones in your direction, but I am no less guilty than those who did. I watched from the sidelines as all the “cool” boys and girls picked you over with their razor-sharp tongues. I knew in my heart what they were doing was wrong. I knew they were breaking you apart. I told myself there was nothing I could do about it, but I was wrong.

I could have stepped up. I could have stood between you and them. I could have shielded you from their glares in the hallways. I could have reported their behavior to the administration. I could have moved over and offered you a seat next to me. I could have hugged you when I saw tears in your eyes. I could have invited you to church, to my home, or my lunch table.

I want you to know I secretly admired you. You held your head high each day. You never once lowered yourself to their level. You boldly proclaimed that you were beautiful and that your parents loved you. I was so proud of you. I’m sorry I never told you. 

I could tell you those years of being a punching bag were formative and made you stronger and more resilient, but I won’t. Your victimization only served to bolster the egos of those far less self-assured than you ever were. The truth is it never should have happened. I shouldn’t have allowed it. I knew better.

I knew that Jesus stood up to bullies. I knew He drew a line in the sand and asked anyone without sin to cast the first stone. I knew He befriended the outcasts, the ones society looked down on with judgment and spite. I knew He cared not how they looked, only that they mattered. Please forgive me for turning a blind eye to the injustice I saw before me. 

I’ve had my heart crushed by words of rejection before. I watch as my children get their feelings hurt and my heart breaks all over again. I’m so sorry I participated in causing your heart pain, in causing your mother’s heart pain. 

I pray you’ve come to know the love of Jesus, and that you understand how worthy and treasured you are in His sight. I’m sorry you didn’t learn it from me.

Were I to meet you again, I assure you I wouldn’t stay quiet. I would say, “You can sit with me.”

After our talk, I urged my son to look for other kids who were alone: “Maybe instead of hoping someone will be the friend you need, you can be the friend someone else needs.” The next day Justice courageously approached a classmate sitting alone and said, “You can sit with me.” The newfound friend sidled up to him and together they drew pictures and read books during their lunch break. After school, Justice proudly proclaimed, “Mom, I made a new friend! He needed me just like I needed him!”

I pray every day for my son’s peers, for their hearts to be sensitive and selfless. I pray for them to include my son and lift his spirits, and that they would accept him for who he is. But more so I pray both my children will be that kind of friend to others, that they will be Jesus to those no one else is being Jesus to. Empathy is a great connector. Jesus understood what it was like to be despised, mistreated, and misunderstood. He wasn’t loved by everyone, but He knew everyone was worthy of love. He offered a seat to anyone who needed it.

To anyone who has felt unwelcome, unseen, or unloved, I will say to you what I should have said to Vanessa all those years ago: You can sit with me. To anyone who has been hurt or betrayed, plop your weary self right on down beside me. There is space for us both on this bench. Jesus offers you His hand. He assures you are worthy of love and respect. His loving kindness makes space for you even when the world does not. Now go and do the same.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those being crushed.” -Proverbs 31:8