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Jul. 9th, 2012 02:23 amWhen I was 13, I met my father for the first time. My mother had brought me up to hate him and I poured out my contempt for him in his face, daring him to deny the 'truths' my mother had taught me.
He didn't blow up at me, call my mother a liar, or make counter-accusations. He just looked sad and hurt (although I didn't want to see that he had been) and he told me with deep love and compassion in his voice and in his manner, that I needed to understand that people who are hurting will sometimes say horrible things, will lash out at others, and that there is often nothing a person can do but see that pain and to pray for their healing. That sometimes the person they are saying vile things about isn't even the one they are truly angry with so there is no purpose served in arguing with them.
Praying for them... That is the task I shall set for myself. May I do it as well and as lovingly as my father did on that day.
He didn't blow up at me, call my mother a liar, or make counter-accusations. He just looked sad and hurt (although I didn't want to see that he had been) and he told me with deep love and compassion in his voice and in his manner, that I needed to understand that people who are hurting will sometimes say horrible things, will lash out at others, and that there is often nothing a person can do but see that pain and to pray for their healing. That sometimes the person they are saying vile things about isn't even the one they are truly angry with so there is no purpose served in arguing with them.
Praying for them... That is the task I shall set for myself. May I do it as well and as lovingly as my father did on that day.
