Bitterness

I am working through some bitterness in my heart these past few days and I came upon this quote: "Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host."-- Maya Angelou

Now, before I get into this, please let me acknowledge that bitterness is NOT cancer. Cancer is cancer. Cancer robs and steals and there is (sometimes) not one damn thing you can do about it. You have no choice in the matter. And it breaks hearts and bodies and families. It's the essence of evil. It attacks and even for the people who "beat it," (I've heard) there is always this subtle haunting in the back of your mind that it will be back for you.

So no, bitterness is not cancer. But like the wise Angelou said, "Bitterness is LIKE cancer."

When I get angry, I get REALLY angry-- I know I've said it many times, but I just feel things deeply. But usually within a day or so, I can look at a situation rationally and come to a place of reconciliation. If I am wrong, I will say I am wrong. If I am "right" (whatever that means), I am generally pretty gracious and amicable.

But this past year I experienced a hurt that has left a lot of bitterness lingering. And that bitterness is eating my soul. It feels like it's killing me at times if I am going to be honest. It's as if it's stealing my oxygen. It's jading me. It's making me distrustful and unhappy. It's ruining relationships.

But here's the thing. Unlike cancer, we have some say in whether or not bitterness kills us.

A few days ago I was encouraged by someone I love and respect a great deal to consider how I might "love well" in spite of my hurt. Ouch. Ow. Ow. It hurts to think about trying to love again.

My sweet Jerry has been hurt so badly in his life. His body bears the scars of abuse I shudder to imagine and yet his head holds no memory of it. At least no conscious memory. He's very skittish and nervous about love. There's something that feels uncomfortable about it. And he's scared. I want to hold him and love him and kiss him and let him cry in my arms and tell me all about it, but he simply cannot. I want him to get through the yuck so that he can start to move on. But he's not there yet.

In the tiniest little way, I am starting to understand Jerry better. I too am feeling skittish and nervous about love. There's something that feels uncomfortable about it. And I am scared.

But I have no question of in my ability to love Jerry no matter what has happened to him. And I long for him to start to become more open to that love. And if I truly believe I was created with the capacity to channel love God's love to Jerry's hurt so that he may experience redemption, (which I do), I have to also believe that love is available to me in my hurt. Our stories are so vastly different. Please don't think I am equating what I've been through with what he's been through. I am not. I haven't experienced what Jerry has. He's had it way worse. But in spite of how bad he has it, I can't imagine anything that would make ME love him less. Anything. How much more so does our Father in heaven (one who is perfect in love) LOVE Jerry? I KNOW God loves Jerry. I know it. And if I am absolutely convinced of God's love for Jerry as his child, then what conclusion can I draw about his love for me, also his child? And so what is his desire for me?

I guess it's something like this-- if A=B and B=C, then A has to = C.