Cindy in the Middle

A Brady Bunch memory reveals the quiet tragedy of those who never chose the flight.

I grew up sharing a bedroom with my two older brothers. Three boys in one room is not always the recipe for peace.

One morning I woke up to the sound of them fighting. Not just arguing. Really fighting. Voices raised. Bodies moving into “stand off!” position! High noon at the McBride corral! The kind of tension that makes a younger kid lie still for a moment and wonder what to do.

I was scared.

And if I’m honest, I was a little bit of a tattletale.

So I went and told Mom. She brought my brothers in and had a sit-down with them. The lecture was delivered. Justice had been served—at least from my point of view.

But then I had a new problem.

Now they were both mad at me!

The next day the conflict escalated into a full wrestling match. The week after that the tension in the room was still thick enough to feel when the lights went out at night.

That same week I saw an episode of The Brady Bunch. Marcia and Jan were fighting and their solution was to put a strip of tape down the middle of the bedroom floor. Each side belonged to one sister. No crossing the line.

Poor Cindy Brady, the youngest, didn’t know which side she belonged on. She was stuck trying to walk right down the tape.

That image stayed with me. Because that’s exactly how it felt in that bedroom.

And the older I get, the more I realize that is exactly how millions of people in our world feel today.

When wars break out, the headlines focus on governments and armies and strategy. But countless people are more like Cindy Brady standing on the tape.

Children.

Mothers.

Families.

Neighbors.

They didn’t start the fight. They didn’t choose the sides. But suddenly the room is divided and the shouting begins.

And they are left trying to balance on the narrow strip between forces far larger than themselves.

Stay on the tape.

Don’t step the wrong way.

Don’t get caught in the middle.

And yet they do.

Just days ago the world saw the most heartbreaking example. A girls’ elementary school in Minab, Iran, was struck during the opening wave of the war. More than a hundred children—many between seven and twelve years old—were killed when the building collapsed during class time.

Backpacks were found in the rubble.

Notebooks.

Lunch containers.

The ordinary things of childhood.

Those children were not generals.

They were not politicians.

They were not making military decisions.

They were simply kids sitting at their desks.

Trying to learn.

Trying to grow.

Trying to live.

Like Cindy in that Brady Bunch episode, they were caught in the middle of a fight they never chose.

And every war eventually reveals the same heartbreaking truth: the people most harmed are often the ones who had the least to do with starting it.

Jesus once said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.”

Not the warriors.

Not the strategists.

Not the ones who draw the lines down the middle of the room.

The peacemakers.

The ones who notice the children standing on the tape.

The ones who refuse to accept a world where innocence must balance between explosions.

The ones who believe the room does not have to stay divided forever.

Because someday—if humanity is going to survive its own anger—we will have to do something far more courageous than picking sides.

We will have to pick peace.

And we will have to start by stepping off the tape.

Your friend and pastor, stepoing forward for peace, Brook