About the Ones Who Hate You
You can’t do anything right for them? You could set yourself on fire to keep them warm, and at BEST, they won’t even notice (because they have no use for a fire that day), and at worst, complain that you used up all the gasoline.
You can’t speak right enough. You can ask in all the therapist-approved ways, use the “I” statements, the sandwich method, the Oxford commas, ask in the morning or the afternoon or ten minutes after twilight and not before bed and definitely not before coffee or when they have a migraine or they’re busy with organizing their stack of Mead wide-ruled folders from 1982 and you’ll patiently wait three years, two months and seventeen days for when Jupiter aligns with Mars or whenever the heck they said was the “best” time to have this conversation, and your tone of voice will be wrong.
Doesn’t matter that you can communicate with 172 billion other people just fine…
Highly paid for the skill of communicating with people, if you want to know the truth.
You can’t compromise enough. Like the time a wife gave up sleeping with a fan on because the husband didn’t like the fan. The compromise was sleeping with an air purifier, until he didn’t like that, either. Why can’t you EVER COMPROMISE, he demanded. It’s always you, you, you. What YOU want. And now I have to sleep with your stupid air purifier on because YOU CANT COMPROMISE.
“But I already gave up my fan,” you think. “What did HE compromise?” And it’s only your extreme selfishness, you garbage human, get making you think that anyone should have to compromise anything at all for YOU, of all people.
Because their WORLD VIEW of you is that you’re hate-able. Despised. The least. Not worth their time, effort, being included. Barely even tolerable, even WITHOUT your annoying air purifier. NO MATTER WHAT. And you know what? You REALLY need to be put in your place.
You could feed all the orphans.
Donate everything you own to charity.
Save the whales.
Save the planet.
Cure the cancer.
Work 23.5 hours a day.
Sell all your earthly possessions and give the money to the homeless man on the corner.
Oh. But then you used the wrong tone of voice, or you didn’t JUMP when (if you weren’t a complete IDIOT you would KNOW) they would really prefer that you jump, and you failed to worship at their altar, or read their mind, or burn yourself completely to the ground, and they’re immediately on the phone, alerting all the flying monkeys.
“Well you KNEW she wouldn’t set herself on fire the right way, didn’t you?” the flying monkeys will say. “YOU KNEW she would be selfish and use all the gasoline ON HERSELF because that’s WHO SHE IS… SELFISH. And a FAKE CHRISTIAN. U N G R A T E F U L.”
And you have done it again, been pure garbage again. No matter how hard you try. How many nights you lay awake wondering why someone who is supposed to love you just … doesn’t.
And never will.
I
Am
Hated,
you realize.
It doesn’t matter what I say or do or don’t do.
I am hated. Hate-able. Definitely not lovable.
Nope, loving me, garbage me, my garbage gasoline-squandering self, would be too much to ask.
BUT HAVE YOU EVER NOTICED THAT GOD NEVER, EVER DOES THAT?
He answers prayers, even when you didn’t ask in the right tone of voice. HE DOESN’T EVEN REQUIRE THAT YOU ASK IN THE RIGHT TONE OF VOICE.
His mercies are new FOR YOU, every single morning.
He doesn’t demand that you set yourself on fire, turn yourself inside out, give away everything you ever cared about, use proper grammar, even.
There IS NO COMPROMISE, because he already paid for everything.
He never says I am so sick of your crap.
Even if the best you have to offer really is crap. Crap that’s been set on fire a whole bunch of times…
He freely offers all the miracles and the abundance and the answered prayers and the BELONGING… even to you.
To me.
The one who is so hate-able by the one person left on earth who is supposed to love (me)…
The belonging is the best part.
Or, wait. No. The reaching down from on high to take hold of me and rescue me from the deep waters.
God of the Universe… the Mighty One, parter of seas, filler of carts, destroyer of enemies… THAT God, reaching down for me.
To rescue me.
Even when I do it wrong.
Answering my prayers even when I didn’t ask in the right way… maybe that’s the best part. Even when I asked through sobs because I barely believed he would (for me).
Even when my faith wasn’t even a mustard seed.
It blows me away, that GOD would bend down to hear … me.
Oh, how many prayers he’s answered for me.
How much power he allows me to feel in my prayers because he’s shown me over and over and over that he hears me.
Me.
Delights in me.
Delights to bless me. Provide for me. Protect me.
I am delightful to him.
Cherished.
Adored.
It’s more than I can fathom.
Thank you, God, that you love even me.
Love is not rude… 1 Corinthians 13:5
He reached down from on high… psalm 18:16
He bends his ear to me… psalm 116:2
He calls me his treasure.
