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The Bullied and the Bullies

THE BULLIED AND THE BULLIES
Mike Cunningham
November 3, 2013
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Frank Peretti says that his disfigurement “is called cystic hygroma, a birth defect that usually develops on the side of the neck, so I suppose the role of the doctor’s forceps in delivering me is debatable. Whatever the case, the folks at the hospital never got a clue or never wanted one.”

“As was customary in 1951, Mom’s doctor insisted that she stay in the hospital for several days before he would discharge her, and those days became a disconcerting la-la land of denial on the part of the medical staff. My head still rested awkwardly, I wasn’t eating much, and what little nourishment I could handle didn’t stay with me long. Whenever Mom expressed her concerns to the doctor and nurses, they all pooh-poohed the problem. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Peretti. You have a big, strong boy there. Just like his dad.”

“Mom asked about the small lump on the side of my neck.
CystHygroma
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Mom’s nurse assured her. “The doctor used forceps to help draw the baby out during birth, so it’s probably just a little bruise. It will clear up in a matter of days, and your baby will be fine.”

“Well, they were the medical experts, weren’t they? Mom and Dad accepted the assessment and took me home, fully expecting the lump to dissolve within a few days.

It didn’t.

Instead it grew larger…and larger. Within a month, the lump on my neck had swollen to the size of a baseball. I could barely swallow.”

“As God’s providence-oh, so mysterious and so painful at the time-would have it, Dad’s ministry at the little church came to an end, and it was time to move on. Dad’s folks, my grandparents, lived in Seattle, so we traveled there to live with them while Mom and Dad figured out the next direction for their life and family. Concerned that the lump on my throat was expanding, Mom took me to another doctor, to get a second opinion. This physician took one look at my neck and declared emphatically, “We need to get him to the hospital right away!”

“My parents took me to Children’s Orthopedic Hospital in Seattle where the doctor’s quickly diagnosed my condition-and none too soon. Cystic Hygroma can lead to obstruction of a persons breathing; it can cause nervous palsies, possible hemorrhaging, and infection, and I was showing sings of developing everything on the list. It was time to operate.”

“I was barely two months old when the doctors cut my neck open, trying to clean out a swollen mass that threatened to kill me!

“They succeeded-mostly-and then kept me in the hospital for ten days to watch for possible complications. It must have been a long haul for a newborn. Mom recalls that when they finally placed me back in her arms to go home, I was a tiny “bag of bones,” with a long scar and black sutures that made it appear as if my head had been nearly severed and then sewn back on.”

“We’ve done all that we can,” the doctors told my parents. “Just take him home and love him, and that will be the best medicine for him.” Although the doctors informed Mom and Dad that a recurrence was possible and that cystic growth into surrounding tissues was unpredictable, they didn’t expect any complications.”

“Mom and Dad got back to building their life. Dad went back to working at the luggage factory where he’d worked while attending Bible collage, and we did all right. Thanks to the love of my folks and my older brother, Terry, I fattened up again just fine.”

“But then came complications the doctor’s didn’t expect. As they’d said, cystic growth can be unpredictable, and the unpredictable happened. My tongue began to swell, and before long, it was hanging out of my mouth, oozing a fluid that turned to black scab when it contacted the air. I drooled constantly, leaving bloody, blackish residue around my mouth and chin, down the front of my cloths, and on my pillow. I was having trouble eating-imagine trying to swallow, even chew, without the help of your tongue!”

“I became a frequent and familiar patient at Children’s Orthopedic Hospital. The doctor’s feared cancer, but one elderly surgeon had seen my symptoms previously in another patient, a little girl, whose precious face had been distorted due to her condition. The doctor guessed that the swelling in my tongue was the result of my earlier operation, during which the tumor had been removed. Some lymph glands had also been removed, so now my lymphatic system was secreting infection into my tongue.”

“It was going to be a tough problem to fix. With the tongue so enlarged, there was no way to shrink it down again except to carve it down. In the first of many operations on my tongue and mouth, the doctors literally cut a wedge of flesh from my tongue in an effort to keep it in my mouth.”

“Next problem: with my tongue carved down to a stump, it couldn’t do the usual tasks a tongue is supposed to do. I could barely move it. Eating was difficult, speaking even more so. The surgeons operated again…and again removing flesh below my tongue to free it up, they performed plastic surgery on my face around my jaw and chin. By the time I was four years old, I had endured seven rounds of surgery. I vaguely remember some of the later operations. I can still recall how unpleasant it felt, being tied to a hospital bed, being fed through tubes shoved down my nose, and leaving wooden sleeves holding my arms straight so I couldn’t touch my face. I missed my family, I wanted to go home, and I wanted to sleep in real pajamas, not those goofy hospital gowns that are wide open in the back.”

“When at last the doctor’s allowed me to go home, the journey wasn’t over. My tongue was still big and unwieldy, protruding from my mouth, and by now I was learning to talk that way. My speech was slurred, like Sylvester the cat and my tongue was still oozing fluid that caked on my lips and chin like dark chocolate-and sometimes sprayed on others if I pronounced a really strong s. I drew stares wherever I went. Mom, and Dad, and my brother Terry, were protective but they couldn’t possibly shield me from the natural revulsion most people expressed, knowingly or not, once they noticed the raw flesh and brown gunk in my mouth.”

“Ooh, what’s wrong with him? the children, and too often the adults would say. Ooh, yuck.”

“Can you figure God out? My folks did a lot of praying for me, as did the members of our church and all the extended family, gathering around me, laying hands on me, and praying that God would heal me. Even Oral Roberts prayed for me when I was three years of age. My folks were sorely disappointed that I had not been healed instantly. Why hadn’t God answered the many prayers offered in faith, believing God for a miracle? It’s tough enough trying to figure God out, but especially when, to fulfill His plans God seems a bit deaf. Making matters worse, of course, we usually don’t get an immediate explanation.” No More Bullies by Frank Peretti, (pgs. 33-41)

Timothy Keller explains that, “If God actually provided an explanation of all the reasons why he allows things to happen as they do, it would be too much for our finite brains. Think of little children and their relationship to their parent. Three year olds cannot understand most of why their parents allow and disallow what they do. But though they aren’t capable of comprehending their parents’ reasons, they are capable of knowing their’ parents’ love and therefore are capable of trusting them and living securely. That is what they really need. Now, the difference between God and human beings is infinitely greater than the difference between a thirty-year-old parent and a three-year-old child. So we should not expect to be able to grasp all God’s purposes, but through the cross and gospel of Jesus Christ, we can know his love. And that is what we need most.”

“In Ann Voskamp’s book ‘One Thousand Gifts’, she shares her journey to understand the senseless death of her sister, crushed by a truck at the age of two. In the end, she concludes that the primary issue is whether we trust God’s character. Is he really loving? Is he really just? Her conclusion:

“[God] gave us Jesus…. If God didn’t withhold from us His very own Son, will God withhold anything we need? If trust must be earned, hasn’t God unequivocally earned our trust with the bark on the raw wounds, the thorns pressed into the brow, your name on the cracked lips? How will he not also graciously give us all things He deems best and right? He’s already given us the incomprehensible.”
Walking With God Through Pain and Suffering by Timothy Keller Pgs. 121-122.

Peretti continues, “Were the prayers doing any good?”

“Without a doubt! God has a knack for performing miracles that remain unseen only because of our shortsightedness. My folks knew that. Sure, it was painful and frustrating at the time, and the whole rotten mess could make them feel so helpless, but my folks knew that God heard their prayers, and applied every one of them to His divine purpose for Frank Peretti. Of course God heard the many prayers on my behalf…and He answered them in His time, and in His way. The resulting healing process is still at work in my life to this day.”

“So Mom and Dad persevered in faith, trusting that God would eventually heal me in whichever manner He wanted. The surgeries continued along with repeated visits to the doctor. Everything seemed to go so slooowly, but my parents never gave up hope. They continued to believe God, and they trusted Him, one day at a time.”

“And really, when I consider my condition at the beginning, the Lord was very gracious to me. For a while, the doctors were concerned that my face would be misshapen or that my teeth would come in crooked because of the constant pressing of my tongue, but amazingly, my face maintained its normal structure, and my teeth came in straight. I could have done a lot worse. In researching cystic hygroma, I’ve found that other kids with the defect had to bear a much greater burden of disfigurement.”

“My burden was limited to my ugly tongue and one side effect: my small stature. Apparently, my body had been so preoccupied with fighting off infection that it had to postpone growing. The doctors assured my folks that I’d catch up eventually. We would just have to be patient.”

“I was small and I talked funny, but that didn’t matter at home. Mom and Dad always loved me and let me know that I was special, that I would grow up to be big and strong someday, and that the problem with my tongue would soon go away. I believed them, and, really, we did all right.”

“And then I had to go to school.”

Can you imagine what Frank’s experience at school was like? Of course, you can! Although he was 50 years of age when he penned these words, he remembers his Mom saying,

“Come on, honey; it’s time to go to school,” I heard Mom’s voice calling. You are going to have so much fun. You’ll get to color and play games and listen to stories. You’ll love it.”

“Mom checked my sweater to make sure I was dressed just right for my first day of kindergarten. My tongue still protruded from my mouth, and I had difficulty pronouncing many words, but I had developed my own way of saying words when my tongue refused to cooperate. For the most part, I could communicate fairly well.”

“Going to kindergarten was almost like being at home. The teacher was kind and loving, and she never said a word about my disfigurement. At first, most of the children were, kind, too, or maybe they were just as awed by the school experience as I was so I didn’t receive many snide remarks. As the year went on, however, the teasing began.”

How would you like to be in Frank’s shoes? Can you imagine the thoughts that were racing through his mind? And how about his parents and older brother? Knowing what Frank would be subjected to at school would have driven them to their knees in continuous fervent prayer. That was quite a heart-breaking experience God was allowing them to endure. Their faith was certainly being tested to the max just as it had been from the moment that he was born.

Frank says that, “Children can say the funniest things. They also can say some of the cruelest things imaginable. Even at that young age, the kids seemed compelled to remind me about the scab-covered tongue hanging from my mouth. By the end of my kindergarten year I’d had quite enough of school and didn’t want to return.”

“When Mom dropped me off at school to begin first grade, I decided not to stay. By now, I was extremely self-centered about my size and disfigurement, so as soon as I saw our car disappear around the corner, I ran away from school and headed back home. I was like a human boomerang, returning to the person who sent me out. Sometimes, I got home before Mom parked the car in our garage!”

“I don’t wanna go to school!” I railed.

“Frank, honey, you have to go to school,” Mom insisted.

“No I’m not going!”

“Yes, you must.” I loved my mother dearly, and she loved me, even as she planted deeply in my mind the axioms of authority that would follow me for years. “You have to be there. You have no choice.”

“She herded me into the car and drove me back to school.”

“One Sunday morning, when I was about seven years of age, I was sitting in church , trying to keep from squirming around as dad led the song service. My tongue was throbbing. Intense pain began to flare around my throat. Before long, I felt as if a lump of meat was stuck in my throat and I could barely breath.”

“We weren’t supposed to talk in church. We weren’t supposed to fidget or make noise. So, since I had to scream and cry, I did it while running out of the sanctuary.”

“Mom came running after me. “Frank! What’s wrong?”

“I clutched at my throat, choking, tears streaming from my eyes. The more I cried, the worse the pain got. Mom took one look at my neck and saw the swelling around my throat.”

“Mumps! A serious enough affliction for any child, but far worse for a child with cystic hygroma! Mom raced to a phone and called our doctor, who prescribed medication to reduce the fever and swelling.”

“The medication did the trick and I was able to breathe more easily, but getting any food past my doubly swollen tongue and badly constricted throat was another matter. Mom and Dad had to feed me through a straw for several weeks. My bout with the mumps served to notify them that I was probably going to need more surgery on my tongue and mouth.” Pg. 51

Although it’s been going on for centuries, bullying is definitely on the rise in our country. It’s very serious and should be addressed in every pulpit. I hope today’s message has been helpful. Lord willing, I’ll have more to say concerning the problem of the Bullied And The Bullies next week.

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November 3, 2013 Posted by Categories: Uncategorized 2 comments

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