Grace Across Borders: Biblical Lessons and Global Legends

🎧 Want to listen instead?
Press play below and journey through this week’s reflection with me.

Hi I am Tameka and welcome to Grace Across Borders

By 10:30 last night, I was done.

I had been trying to take a nap since about 5 p.m. Between picking up my daughter, taking her back, picking her up again, and everything else the day demanded, these old bones of mine never got the rest they were promised.

So when I finally started dozing off and my phone rang at 10:30, everything in me should have said, Ignore it.

The TV was set to turn itself off. I was comfortable. I didn’t even realize I still had my glasses on.

Then I saw the name.

It was an old friend, and because he doesn’t normally call me that late, I thought something might be wrong.

Nothing was wrong.

He was calling, among other things, about my blog.

He told me about a woman he knew and said, “Every time you send me your blog, I send it to her. She’s your faith. She’s Seventh-day Adventist.”

Of course, I interrupted him.

“I’m not Adventist, though.”

I don’t even remember whether he acknowledged the correction.

What I do remember is him telling me he was going to give me her number because he wanted me to start sending the blog directly to her.

And there I was, half asleep, thinking I was going to wake up to Tuesday morning—because Monday was a holiday and apparently my internal calendar was still there.

The blog was the furthest thing from my mind.

Until that phone call reminded me:

Tomorrow is Wednesday.

Blog day.

And somewhere between going back to sleep and waking up this morning, I had plenty on my mind.

I was disappointed.

There were some situations—and some people—I had been thinking about, and if I’m being truthful, I had already decided where the problem was.

With them.

I was looking at their choices, their actions, and the things I believed they should know better than to do.

Then that old saying from growing up came back to me:

When you point one finger at somebody else, three fingers are pointing back at you.

Well…

Apparently, God wasn’t interested in talking to me about them this morning.

He wanted to talk to me about me.

And apparently, He had a Wednesday blog after all.

Scripture

“And he said, Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?

And the man said, The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.

And the LORD God said unto the woman, What is this that thou hast done? And the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.”

— Genesis 3:11–13

Genesis 3 begins with something that had never happened before.

Human beings had been given a command by God, and they broke it.

The serpent approached the woman and questioned what God had said. The woman saw that the fruit was good for food, pleasing to the eye, and desirable for gaining wisdom. She ate it and gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate too.

Immediately, something changed.

The man and woman who had previously been described as naked and unashamed suddenly recognized their nakedness. They covered themselves. And when they heard God walking in the garden, they hid.

Then God began asking questions.

“Where are you?”

“Who told you that you were naked?”

“Have you eaten from the tree that I commanded you not to eat from?”

Adam had an opportunity to answer for Adam.

Instead:

“The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.”

There is something easy to miss in his answer.

Adam eventually admitted that he ate.

But before he got to “I did eat,” he made sure God knew about the woman.

And not simply the woman.

“The woman whom thou gavest to be with me…”

In one sentence, Adam managed to point toward Eve—and even toward the God who gave her to him.

Then God turned to the woman.

“What is this that thou hast done?”

And Eve answered:

“The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.”

Again, the confession eventually came.

I did eat.

But first came the explanation.

The serpent deceived me.

And here is what makes the scene so powerful:

They weren’t making everything up.

Eve had given Adam the fruit.

The serpent had deceived Eve.

Those things were true.

Yet Adam still ate.

And Eve still ate.

God asked each of them about what they had done, and each answered by first telling Him what somebody else had done.

Maybe that’s why this moment in scripture still feels so familiar.

Sometimes an excuse doesn’t have to be a lie.

Sometimes it is simply the part of the truth that makes it easier not to look at our own.

Folklore

Long ago, in a folktale from Namaqualand in southern Africa, a tailor named Itkler discovered that his clothes had been torn.

He knew who had done it.

Mouse.

So Itkler confronted Mouse.

But Mouse wasn’t having it.

Mouse said Cat did it.

So the question moved to Cat.

Cat protested.

Not me.

Dog did it.

Dog wasn’t accepting that either.

Dog said Wood was responsible.

Wood pointed to Fire.

Fire pointed to Water.

Water pointed to Elephant.

And Elephant?

Elephant pointed all the way down to Ant.

By the time everybody finished explaining themselves, Itkler still had torn clothes, but somehow nobody was responsible for tearing them.

So the tailor took the matter to Baboon.

He told Baboon what had happened and asked him to gather everybody together and settle the dispute.

Baboon did.

Mouse came.

Cat came.

Dog came.

Wood, Fire, Water, Elephant and Ant were all called to answer.

Surely, with everybody standing together, somebody would finally take responsibility.

No.

Mouse still denied it.

Cat still denied it.

Dog still denied it.

One after another, each gave the same explanation as before.

The blame simply kept moving.

Baboon listened until he finally decided that if everybody was going to pass responsibility to somebody else, then everybody could experience what happened when the consequences started passing too.

He told Cat to bite Mouse.

Dog was told to bite Cat.

Wood would beat Dog.

Fire would burn Wood.

Water would quench Fire.

Elephant would drink Water.

And Ant would bite Elephant in his most tender places.

And according to the old tale, they did.

The consequences travelled right back down the same chain the blame had travelled through.

Cat bites Mouse.

Dog bites Cat.

Wood beats Dog.

Fire consumes Wood.

Water quenches Fire.

Elephant drinks Water.

And Ant bites Elephant.

The tailor was satisfied.

His complaint had finally been answered.

But the story doesn’t quite allow Baboon to walk away looking like the wise judge who solved everything.

According to the tale, from that day forward those creatures could no longer live peaceably with one another.

And Baboon?

The old story says that after delivering what it calls his “foolish judgment,” Baboon lost the privilege of walking upright.

And from then on, Baboon walked on all fours.

One torn garment.

Eight explanations.

Nobody willing to say:

This part is mine.

Reflection

Before I go any further, I want to give you a little grace here too.

The story I’m about to share touches on an attempted sexual assault from when I was a teenager. I won’t go into graphic detail, but I know that even the mention of something like this can take people back to places they weren’t expecting to visit today.

So if that’s part of your story too, read this next part in whatever way is kindest to you. Skip ahead if you need to. Come back another day if you need to.

The lesson will still be here.

And so will the grace.

For me, though, this is where those three fingers pointing back took me.

I was back in high school.

My parents had given me a curfew. I knew I was supposed to go home, but I was hanging out with friends and having fun. One of them suggested that we go to another friend’s house to chill.

Everything in me said, Go home.

Did I listen?

No.

There were about three of us, still in our school uniforms, and somehow we got into a cab.

Looking back now, I have to laugh at that part. Where were we getting cab money from? We were high-school kids! We normally took the bus, probably hanging off the side of it. Yet there we were, pulling up in a cab—three girls in uniform who probably should have been home doing dishes.

We walked inside.

There were grown men in that house.

And I had to fight one of them to keep him from molesting me.

I fought physically. I fought mentally.

I fought for myself.

But strangely, through all the years that followed, he wasn’t the person I thought about.

She was.

The friend who suggested we go.

I hated her.

I blamed her.

She took me there. She knew where we were going. She put me in that situation.

More than 25 years later, I still couldn’t tell you what that man looked like. I don’t know what happened to the other girls. I don’t even remember one of their faces.

But I remembered hers.

Recently, her picture appeared on my screen as one of those social-media suggestions asking whether I knew this person.

I recognized her and kept scrolling.

Not because I hadn’t forgiven her.

I had.

But this morning I realized:

I had forgiven her, but I had never stopped blaming her.

And maybe some blame belongs there. I don’t know what she knew or what happened to her that day.

But I know what belonged to me.

My parents told me to come home.

I didn’t.

Everything inside me told me to go home.

I didn’t.

I never even asked whose house we were going to. I assumed “friend” meant somebody our age.

And let me be clear:

Taking responsibility for my choices does not absolve a grown man of his.

What he attempted belonged to him.

Whatever my friend knew and chose belonged to her.

And what I chose belonged to me.

Accountability isn’t saying, “Everything was my fault.”

Sometimes it’s simply having the courage to say:

“This part was mine.”

And yes, this is coming from the same woman who is always telling you to give yourself grace.

I still mean it.

Ecclesiastes reminds us:

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”

— Ecclesiastes 3:1

There is a time to give yourself grace.

And there is a time to sit quietly before God and ask, “What was my part?”

Maybe we need both.

Maybe that’s something our children need to understand too.

Sometimes when a parent says, “Don’t go,” “Come home,” “Be careful,” there is a story behind the warning that we’ve never told you.

Sometimes “Don’t” comes from a place called “I did.”

Some experiences are too painful to explain, so we give you the warning without showing you the scar that produced it.

Maybe that’s part of why I’m sharing this dark piece of my past now.

Not to reopen it. Not to expose anybody. Not to take responsibility for something that wasn’t mine.

But after more than 25 years of knowing exactly who I blamed, God finally got me to ask:

What part was mine?

Another Scripture came to mind:

“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”

— 1 Corinthians 13:11

When I was a child, I thought like a child.

I did childish things.

Now I’m grown.

But am I really?

I don’t think I’m grown yet. I think I’m growing.

And I’m thankful that God is still working on me.

Which brings me right back to where I started this morning.

Those people I was so disappointed in.

If God is still working on me, I have to remember that He is still working on them too.

That doesn’t make wrong right. It doesn’t remove accountability.

But maybe disappointment doesn’t have to become condemnation.

The enemy will use whatever opening he can find to distract us, divide us, and derail us from what God has called us to do.

And maybe that’s something God has been showing me—not just this morning, but throughout this whole journey of writing Grace Across Borders.

Give grace.
Tell the truth.
Take accountability.
Forgive.
Keep growing.

Funny.

I went to sleep thinking I didn’t even have a blog to write.

I woke up ready to write about them.

And God gave me a story about me.

Maybe that’s grace too.

A God who doesn’t excuse everything I do, but loves me enough to show me where I still need to grow—and gives me enough grace to grow there.

So I’ll leave you with the question God left with me this morning:

What is He trying to show you about you?

Prayer

Holy, righteous, and eternal Father God,

We just want to give You thanks this morning.

Thank You for where You take us and for reminding us that the journey of a thousand miles begins with just one step—one step of obedience, one step toward doing what You have told us to do and becoming who You have called us to be.

Thank You for that phone call last night. Lord, I don’t remember 95 percent of what we talked about, but I thank You that You allowed me to pick up the phone. What seemed like an interruption became a reminder, and somehow You used even that to bring us here.

I give You all the glory and thanks for the way You are allowing Your people to mature in You, learn more about You, and seek You more deeply.

Lord, for every eye reading this blog and every ear listening to these words, I pray a special blessing today.

I’ve been writing this blog for over a year now, and somehow You keep calling me toward something more than I ever imagined it could become.

And Lord, I’m here for it.

I’m here for wherever You want us to go, however You want us to grow, and whatever You want this journey to become. Give us the grace we need to endure all that comes with following where You lead.

Continue to speak to us.

Continue to lead us.

And please keep us humble enough to listen.

Help us to self-reflect when we need to. Teach us that acknowledging our own part does not absolve anyone else of what they have done. Their actions remain theirs, our actions remain ours, and ultimately, You are the Judge.

Your Word reminds us:

“Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”

— Romans 12:19

Lord, there was a reason those words stayed with me from the first time I heard them. Because if I’m telling the truth, there have been times when I had enough vengeance stored up for everybody and their mama.

But You keep reminding me:

Vengeance belongs to You.

And then, Lord, You do something else to us.

Sometimes after we’ve asked You for justice, when we see the person facing consequences, we find ourselves asking You to have mercy on them too.

Maybe that’s another place where You’re growing us.

Help us understand the kind of love You continually pour over us so that we can learn to extend grace without pretending wrong is right.

You want us safe. You want us whole. You want us walking in the purpose You have for our lives. Yet we live in a world where the enemy looks for every opening he can find to distract us, divide us, and pull us away from what You have called us to do.

So keep us close to You.

Help us seek You in every area of our lives—even the places where we don’t think we need You, the places we think we understand, and especially the places we think we can handle on our own.

Put Yourself in the center of it all.

And when we’re busy pointing one finger outward, give us the humility to notice the three pointing back.

Keep speaking.

Keep correcting.

Keep giving grace.

And keep growing us.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.