Self Confessions of a Cutter

"A truthful witness gives honest testimony, but a false witness tells lies. Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tonue of the wise brings healing." Pro 12:17&18

I was a cutter. No, not in the Emo sense of the word; I have more than enough legitimately earned scar tissue. Rather, in the way most boys are at one point or another while growing up, slightly obsessed with knives and axes and whatnot. I liked to play with scissors, whittle sticks, chop wood, etc. This landed me in trouble at times and lots of trouble one particular time.

I had just received my first pocket knife from my grandfather. It was an older used knife; a bit beat up but as beautiful as any new one in the eyes of an 8 year old boy. It had 2 blades that folded out of the carved deer antler handle, a screwdriver, and a small file, more than enough hardware for me to get into mischief with. It came with the added bonus- that is; that I’m sure my Grandpa hadn’t consulted with my folks about whether or not I was ready to wield such a mighty weapon. Grandpa had made that determination on his own and I was not about to let him down.

For about a week I carried that thing around with me everywhere, resisting the urge to carve the world with it. I contented myself with unfolding and folding it various blades and implements and feeling the weight of it in my palm, ever careful of its edges so as not to cut myself. Ultimately I decided that being “old enough” to carry a knife was determined by my ability not to cut myself with it. Having this firmly in mind, I set forth to unleash the awesomeness the blade bestowed upon me on the world.

I started carving points on sticks because, as I well knew, a pointy stick is a spear or sword or pole arm of some sort, a non-pointy stick is just a piece of wood, hardly suitable for fighting imaginary dragons with. This was fine for awhile but, once all the evil minions had been dispatched, it grew old. Concerned that my vigorous weapon-smithing my have blunted my knife, I decided to test its edge against something sturdy.

I knew at this point that things were getting a bit out of hand yet, as the old saying goes, “to a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail.” Well, to a boy with a pocket knife, everything looks like something that needs to be cut! In due time, I decided that the clothes line would be an appropriate test subject in determining the keenness of my little blade. After all, it was not too thick but possessed of the tensile strength to support a load of wet clothes, and it was easily accessible as it ran the length of my imaginary backyard kingdom.

I am proud to say, my knife was more than up for the job…yet something was wrong. To my dismay, I realized to late the ire this deed would incur upon me from my mother. Being the wise young lad that I was, I immediately went to her to confess my misconduct. WHAT!?! Heck no, I knew this was bad and would result in the confiscation of my most prized possession, so I did what any reasonable 8 year old would do: embark on a cover-up the likes of which had not been seen since Watergate.

I wrapped the cut in the line with scotch tape, I mean really wrapped it up good, and went merrily on my way. Secure in the knowledge that my misdeed would go unnoticed, I continued to enjoy my new knife in private; until laundry day that is.

No amount of scotch tape could hold that line together once my Mom started hanging out the laundry. And, while lines do break from natural causes from time to time, never do they break with such a clean cut and with such a large bundle of suspiciously wrapped scotch tape around the brake.

While my Mom was the determination authority for this particular crime (she cut half the tail off my favorite stuffed animal- a good object lesson in and of itself), ultimately it was my Dad who flushed out the whole scope of what I had done. He explained to me that I hadn’t just destroyed something of my Mom’s; I had tried to cover it up, and in effect lied about it. He talked about temptation (that knife came with a sore temptation to use it for purposes it was not intended for), honesty (I was anything but forthright in this situation), and consequences (as clearly demonstrated by my Mom).

"For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart." Heb 4:12