• Complain

Frank E. Peretti - The Wounded Spirit

Here you can read online Frank E. Peretti - The Wounded Spirit full text of the book (entire story) in english for free. Download pdf and epub, get meaning, cover and reviews about this ebook. year: 2000, publisher: Thomas Nelson, genre: Detective and thriller. Description of the work, (preface) as well as reviews are available. Best literature library LitArk.com created for fans of good reading and offers a wide selection of genres:

Romance novel Science fiction Adventure Detective Science History Home and family Prose Art Politics Computer Non-fiction Religion Business Children Humor

Choose a favorite category and find really read worthwhile books. Enjoy immersion in the world of imagination, feel the emotions of the characters or learn something new for yourself, make an fascinating discovery.

Frank E. Peretti The Wounded Spirit

The Wounded Spirit: summary, description and annotation

We offer to read an annotation, description, summary or preface (depends on what the author of the book "The Wounded Spirit" wrote himself). If you haven't found the necessary information about the book — write in the comments, we will try to find it.

If youve ever been there,youve never forgotten. The feeling is as haunting and familiar as the smellof a junior high school locker room.

Its the feeling of being undersized ... or oversized ... or klutzy ... or less than beautiful. Of being a nerd ... or a geek ... or just, somehow, different.

Its knowing you are vulnerable-and someone is ready and willing to take full advantage of your weakness by making your life miserable.

Its the fraternity you never wanted to join-the fellowship of the wounded spirit.

And bestselling novelist Frank Peretti is a member, too.

This book is the haunting true story of pain Frank Peretti never forgot but never, until recently, shared with the world. Its the story of growing up with a medical condition that left him disfigured. A series of surgeries and the slow miracle of answered prayer took care of the deformity, but not the underdeveloped frame or the excruciating reality of being different. And it was for these petty crimes that Peretti was prosecuted every day at school-especially in gym class, but also in the halls, on the school grounds, even in his own neighborhood. No wonder he found himself relating to movie monsters who were hated but also feared-and who eventually exacted a bloody revenge on their tormentors!

In Perettis case, deliverance eventually came-through time, through prayer, through a teachers caring intervention, and his own willingness to seek help. But he has never forgotten what life was like at the bottom of the junior high foodchain. And from the reservoir of those agonizing memories he sends a compelling message to victims, to bullies, and to authorities who have the power to intervene-that its never OK for the strong to abuse the weak. And that we allow such abuse at the expense of our souls ... and our very civilization.

Especially in the wake of the massacre at Columbine High School-perpetuated by two troubled but also tormented outsidersthis message takes on haunting resonance. Frank Peretti believes we cannot afford to overlook the continuing reality of wounded spirits, not only in our schools, but in our homes, churches, and workplaces. His approach is both tender and tough as he issues a ringing call for a change in attitude.

Its a call for all of us to stop thinking of abuse as normal, even among kids.

Its a call for the strong to stand up and protect the weak, not prey upon them.

Its a call for those in authority to pay attention to the violence being done to the vulnerable in the midst of our everyday lives and to take action to help.

Most of all, its a call for bullies and victims alike (many of us are both) to seek the healing and forgiveness offered in Jesus Christ. For that healing is really the heart of this book-the only reality that can break the natural cycle of victimization and abuse.

Only in Christ, Peretti reminds, is there hope for the wounded spirits-but that hope ispowerful enough to change everything.

Frank E. Peretti: author's other books


Who wrote The Wounded Spirit? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.

The Wounded Spirit — read online for free the complete book (whole text) full work

Below is the text of the book, divided by pages. System saving the place of the last page read, allows you to conveniently read the book "The Wounded Spirit" online for free, without having to search again every time where you left off. Put a bookmark, and you can go to the page where you finished reading at any time.

Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make

The Wounded Spirit Frank Peretti Copyright 2000 Word Publishing All rights - photo 1

The Wounded
Spirit

Frank Peretti

Copyright 2000 Word Publishing All rights reserved No portion of this book - photo 2

Copyright 2000 Word Publishing.

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or other except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The names of some individuals have been changed to protect their privacy. Some stories represent composites.

Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations used in this book are from the New King James Version, copyright 1979, 1980, 1982, Thomas Nelson, Inc., Publishers.

Scriptures marked NASB are from the New American Standard Bible, copyright 1960, 1977 by the Lockman Foundation.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

[applied for]

Printed in the United States of America

00 01 02 03 04 05 BVG 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Mom and Dad, whose love and encouragement never wavered, and to John, who stood on the wall.

Contents

A separate room had been prepared for the boys. It was cold and impersonal, like a prison; the echoing, concrete walls had been painted dirty beige, then marred and chipped over the years, then painted again. The walls were bare except for posted rules, warnings, and advisories, and the only windows were high against the ceiling, caged behind iron grillwork thickly wrapped in paint, rust, and more paint. The air was dank, tainted with the odors of steam, sweat, and skin. Years of rust and sediment from the dripping showerheads and armies of bare, wet feet had marbled the floor with streaks and patches of reddish brown.

The authorities, clad in uniforms and carrying clipboards and whistles, marched the boys in, at least forty of them, all roughly the same age but many different sizes, strengths, and physical maturities. The dates of their births, the locations of their homes, and the simple luck of the draw had brought them here, and much like cattle earmarked for shipment, they had no voice in the matter. The paperwork was in. This room would be a part of their lives for the next four years.

He had never been in this place, or anywhere like this place, before. He had never imagined such a place could even exist. In here, kindness meant weakness, human warmth was a complication, and encouragement was unmanly. In here, harshness was the guiding virtueharshness, cruelty, and the blunt, relentless confirmation of every doubt hed ever carried about himself.

Mr. M, a fearsome authority figure with a permanent scowl and a voice that yelledonly yelledordered them to strip down. His assistants, clones of his cruelty, repeated the order, striding up and down the narrow aisles between the lockers.

The boy hesitated, looking furtively about. Hed never been naked in front of strangers before, but even worse, hed never been naked in front of enemies. It took only one class hour for the others to select him, to label him, and to put him in his place. He was now officially the smallest one, the scared one, the weakling, the one without friends. That made him fair game.

And now he would be naked in front of them. Naked. His stomach wrung; his hands trembled. Dear God, please get me out of here. Please dont let them do this to me.

But every authority figure in his life said he had to be here. He had to go to school, do his chores, finish his homework, keep his shoes tied, go to bed and get up at certain hours, eat his vegetables, and be here. End of discussion.

He removed his clothes.

Mr. M continued his yelling. Come on, move it, move it, move it!

The herdpink, black, brown, and bronzemoved one direction, and all he could do was move with it, a frail, naked body among the forty, longing for a towel, anything to cover himself. Instinctively, he placed his hand over his private parts. Every other body was bigger and much stronger, and every other body had hair where the boy had none. He knew they would notice.

The showers were a long, high-ceilinged echo chamber, murky with steam, rattling with lewd, raucous joking and laughter. He didnt want to hear it.

After a big Hispanic kid finished his shower, the boy carefully took his place under the showerhead, afraid of slipping and even more afraid of grazing against anyone. Touching was dangerous; it could easily become a prelude to being hurt.

He let the water spray over him. He hurriedly lathered his body with some soap.

To his left, the talk startedabout him. Then some laughing. The talk spread, the call went outHey, get a load of this!and an audience gathered, a semicircle of naked, dripping bodies. The talk about him shifted to jeering at him. He tried to act as if he didnt hear them, but he could feel his face flushing. Get through, get through, get out of here!

He rinsed as well as he could, never turning away from the wall, then headed for the towel-off area, not meeting their eyes, trying to ignore their comments about his face, his body, his groin. But the arrows were landing with painful accuracy: Ugly. Wimp. Gross. Little girl.

He grabbed a towel off the cart and draped it around himself before he even started drying with it. Even that action brought lewd comments and another lesson: Once it begins, no action, no words, no change in behavior will turn it back. Once youre the target, anything you do will bring another arrow.

And so the arrows flew: two, then three, then more. Obscenities, insults, put-downs.

Along with his hurt, he felt a pitiful, helpless anger. He wanted to lash out, to tell them to stop, to defend himself, but he was all too aware of his body, just as they were. He could never match the strength of any one of them, much less the whole gang, and they were waiting, even wanting him to try.

Snap! Stinging, searing pain shot up from his groin like a jolt from an electric cattle prod.

Oh, hollered a jock, good one!

Snap! He heard the sound again as a towel whipped past his backside, missing by a millimeter. A big lug with a hideous grin pulled his towel back for another try, then he jerked it toward the boys body again, snapping it back hard, turning the moist end of the towel into a virtual whip. The edge of the towel struck between the boys legs, stinging like a cat-o-nine-tails.

He cried out in pain while they laughed. He raised a knee to protect his groin but lost his footing on the wet tile and tumbled to the floor, his hands skidding on the slimy, soapy residue. He struggled to his feet. A wet foot thumped into his back, and he careened toward a locker-room bench loaded with laughing naked bodies.

Get off me, you fag! Rough hands pushed him and he crunched into another body. Get away, twerp! They were angry with him. He was the Ping-Pong ball being batted about, and they were angry with him!

Hey, squirt, you lookin for trouble?

I think this kid wants a fight!

He fled to the only square foot of floor that might be his own, the space in front of his locker. His body was throbbing, his bruises a combined chorus of pain.

And his soul... oh, his soul. He was choking back his tears, hurrying, fumbling to get his clothes from his locker, resolving to remain silent, desperately hoping no one would see him cryingbut deep inside, his soul wailed in anguish, and there were no words or thoughts to heal it. Parental advice came to his mind, but it carried as much weight as a cookie fortune: Just ignore them. Ignoring was only acting. It didnt stop the arrows from cutting through his heart. He even believed the taunts and stinging words.

Next page
Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make

Similar books «The Wounded Spirit»

Look at similar books to The Wounded Spirit. We have selected literature similar in name and meaning in the hope of providing readers with more options to find new, interesting, not yet read works.


Reviews about «The Wounded Spirit»

Discussion, reviews of the book The Wounded Spirit and just readers' own opinions. Leave your comments, write what you think about the work, its meaning or the main characters. Specify what exactly you liked and what you didn't like, and why you think so.