Sometimes you have a great message nobody wants to hear.

I was talking with a lady the other day who expressed frustration at her difficulty in encouraging family members. When she would urge them to do things like forgive a parent, they would shut it down by saying “you didn’t have the childhood I had.”

These were people who had known her all her life, and in her view, were using that knowledge to silence her.

The fact that these were her older siblings probably didn’t help.

And that is one of the challenges of a lifetime of knowing someone or being known by them.

Some people will choose not to receive us, because they can say, I remember when you were making bad decisions right along with me. Or they may say, Mom always liked you more. Or, I remember when you were five, and sneezed, and milk came out of your nose.

They may have any number of ways of dismissing us. As the saying goes, familiarity breeds contempt.

This, however, is not always the case. Sometimes, the lifelong knowledge that we have of each other becomes our means of establishing accountability or speaking to potential.

If you can say to someone, I remember what you could do when you were 7; I know you can do this now, that’s a gift.

If you can remind someone of their strengths, or their achievements, in an uncertain moment, that’s a blessing.

But that’s not always the choice we make.

When rejected by a hometown crowd, Jesus said “’A prophet is not without honor except in his own town, among his relatives and in his own home’” (Mark 6:4 NIV).

He was sharing life-changing words, and performing miracles, and received the response, not of wonder, but of anger. People were offended that he operated in spiritual authority.

“’Where did this man get these things?’ they asked. ‘What’s this wisdom that has been given him? What are these remarkable miracles he is performing? Isn’t this the carpenter? Isn’t this Mary’s son and the brother of James, Joseph,^[a] Judas and Simon? Aren’t his sisters here with us?’” (Mark 6:2-3 NIV)

It's a tricky thing. The people not denying the miracles, or questioning the wisdom. They are questioning his right to perform them. They are really protesting God’s choice of vessel, but that’s almost beside the point.

The point here is that sometimes our maturation is threatening.

This is a message that compels me to tread lightly. It’s very easy to respond to a cool reception with the answer that people can’t handle my power.

It’s like the comedian saying they’re too smart for the room. No, you’re not funny. It’s your job to match the room.

It’s like the teacher saying the kids are too dumb to get it. No, you’re not doing it right. It’s our job as teachers to help them get it, to figure out how they learn, and teach accordingly.

To people, however who draw their identity from their sense of hierarchy, or a particular social order within a family, or organization, our growth may be destabilizing.

It’s like the pundits who grumble at a singer, or athlete, having political opinions, and want them to just shut up and entertain.

It’s worth noting that we generally only say this about the people we disagree with. If a celebrity steps up to amplify our opinion, we call them a genius. If they do it long enough, we hail them as a leader. We invite them to speak at our conventions. We urge them to run for office.

My question, regarding the opinion from an unlikely source, is, is the idea good or not? Is it gaining traction, or not? If so, you have to deal with it. And if you are the thought leader you present yourself to be, you kinda have to deal with it anyway. You may not even respect the thinker, but if there are others who do, you may need to address their thought.

If I’m teaching and someone (acting in order) raises a question I decline to answer, I just look weak. If they try to hijack, or heckle, or disrupt, that’s a different matter. But if question and answer time comes, and you say something inconvenient, but valid, I need to give the question it’s due.

Sometimes, in families, history may shape our prideful lens.

You can say, when challenged by a daughter, or a nephew, or a baby brother, or your little cousin, I remember holding you in my arms. I used to change your diapers.

And that may be true. But now they’re 18. Or 30. Or 50.

And as humbling as it may be, they may have something to teach you.

Jesus started his public ministry at 30. And had a world of correction for priests who were 50, 60, or 70, who had lost their way.

Now, I’m definitely not the person to say everything a young person says should be received as an upgrade off of dusty old ideas.

Some wisdom is timeless.

Experience can’t be manufactured.

Sometimes we all need to hear that elder word.

We all have the opportunity, however, to learn, and receive, and hear from God, through whomever He is speaking.

Now, one reality, is there’s no such thing as a professional sibling. As much impact as we have in the world, we may not be the person, anointed or appointed to counsel our family, or even our friends. That may be an assignment for someone else.

How many times have you offered wisdom to a loved one 100 times, have them reject it, and then come home one day, and say, you know what Debbie on the job just told me? Or they read a quote from Tyler Perry, or Keanu Reeves. And that’s what makes the light go on for them.

And while you may pridefully roll your eyes, the good news, is that they got it.

And the better news is that when God has something he wants us to know, he doesn’t just leave it to one person to give the message.

Your child may not apply your wisdom till the 500^th time they’ve heard it.

You may not apply your parents’ wisdom until they are no longer on Earth.

The gift is that it was shared and received.

And maybe we can listen to each other along the way.

I pray you hear what you need to and do what you can.

Be blessed.

(Photo Credit: Ketut Subiyanto)