Butt Prints in the

Butt Prints in the Sand

One night I had a wondrous dream,
One set of footprints there were seen,
The footprints of my precious Lord,
But mine were not along the shore.

But then some stranger prints appeared,
And I asked the Lord, "What have we here?"
Those prints are large and round and neat,
"But Lord, they are too big for feet."

"My child," He said in somber tones,
"For miles I carried you alone.
I challenged you to walk in faith,
But you refused and made me wait."

"You disobeyed, you would not grow,
The walk of faith, you would not know,
So I got tired, I got fed up,
And there I dropped you on your butt."

"Because in life, there comes a time,
When one must fight, and one must climb,
When one must rise and take a stand,
Or leave their butt prints in the sand."

GRACE....

The boy stood with back arched, head cocked back and hands clenched defiantly. "Go ahead, give it to me."

The principal looked down at the young rebel. "How many times have you been here?"

The child sneered rebelliously, "Apparently not
enough."

The principal gave the boy a strange look. "And you
have been punished each time have you not?"

"Yeah, I been punished, if that's what you want to
call it." He threw out his small chest, "Go ahead,
I can take whatever you dish out. I always have."

"And no thought of your punishment enters your head the next time you decide to break the rules does it?"

"Nope, I do whatever I want to do. Ain't nothin'
you people gonna do to stop me either."

The principal looked over at the teacher who stood
nearby. "What did he do this time?"

"Fighting. He took little Tommy and shoved his face
into the sandbox."

The principal turned to look at the boy, "Why? What did little Tommy do to you?"

"Nothin', I didn't like the way he was lookin' at
me, just like I don't like the way your lookin' at
me! And if I thought I could do it, I'd shove your
face into somethin'."

The teacher stiffened and started to rise but a
quick look from the principal stopped him. He
contemplated the child for a moment and then quietly said, "Today, my young student, is the day you learn about grace."

"Grace? Isn't that what you old people do before
you sit down to eat? I don't need none of your
stinkin' grace."

"Oh but you do." The principal studied the young
man's face and whispered. "Oh yes, you truly do..."

The boy continued to glare as the principal continued, "Grace, in its short definition is unmerited favor. You can not earn it, it is a gift and is always freely given. It means that you will not be getting what you so richly deserve."

The boy looked puzzled. "Your not gonna whup me? You just gonna let me walk?"

The principal looked down at the unyielding child.
"Yes, I am going to let you walk."

The boy studied the face of the principal, "No
punishment at all? Even though I socked Tommy and
shoved his face into the sandbox?"

"Oh, there has to be punishment. What you did was wrong and there are always consequences to our actions. There will be punishment. Grace is not an excuse for doing wrong."

"I knew it," Sneered the boy as he held out his
hands. "Let's get on with it."

The principal nodded toward the teacher. "Bring me the belt."

The teacher presented the belt to the principal.
He carefully folded it in two and then handed it
back to the teacher.

He looked at the child and said. "I want you to
count the blows."

He slid out from behind his desk and walked over
to stand directly in front of the young man. He
gently reached out and folded the child's
outstretched, expectant hands together and then
turned to face the teacher with his own hands
outstretched. One quiet word came forth from his
mouth.

"Begin."

The belt whipped down on the outstretched hands of the principal.

Crack!

The young man jumped ten feet in the air. Shock
registered across his face, "One" he whispered.

Crack! "Two." His voice raised an octave.

Crack! "Three..." He couldn't believe this.

Crack! "Four." Big tears welled up in the eyes of
the rebel. "OK stop! That's enough. Stop!"

Crack! Came the belt down on the callused hands of the principal.

Crack! The child flinched with each blow, tears
beginning to stream down his face.

Crack!

Crack! "No please", the former rebel begged. "Stop, I did it, I'm the one who deserves it. Stop! Please. Stop..."

Still the blows came, Crack! Crack! One after
another.

Finally it was over. The principal stood with sweat
glistening across his forehead and beads trickling
down his face. Slowly he knelt down. He studied the young man for a second and then his swollen hands reached out to cradle the face of the weeping child.

"Grace...."

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