“Love Keeps No Record of Being Wronged”: A confession of sorts

But I do–I mean. I did. Keep a record of all the wrongs. Issa struggle of mine. I never forget anything important. The name of a random person you introduced me to that I’ve never seen again? Nah. I’m finna forget that. Or that one song we heard one time that I didn’t like but apparently you did (even though you didn’t tell me that at the time)? Nah, fam. I don’t remember who sang that. Cuz it’s not important information.

But I do remember the time that you told me that my tears meant nothing to you. And I do remember how you consistently devalued me despite knowing how important your opinion was to me. And I do remember how impatient you were with me when I was sick while expecting alllll the sympathy on earth when it was your turn to not be well. I also remember how you belittled me while praising others for doing the exact same things–less well than I did. How you contradicted me–argued me into submission even–only to act like you’d received some special revelation from heaven when someone said the EXACT. SAME. THING.

I remember how you’ve harmed me. I remember how you’ve changed me. I remember how you wronged me.

But here I am trying to do better, allowing God to wash me. Clean me all the way up. In the process, I have come face to face with a spirit of anger so powerful that I am kinda surprised. I never imagined that my little inward list of all the times you hurt me would grow into a rage that threatens to swallow me whole.

I am afraid of my own self.

So I pray. I pray to God to release me from the spirit of anger that grips my heart in a grip that feels unbreakable. I pray for deliverance from my anger; for healing of my heart; for regulation of my mind. I ask for strength to resist the familiarity of my resentment and the comfort of rehearsing that list. I pray to make wise choices when the option arises to wallow in the destruction you’ve wrought in me or to bask in the hope of glory God’s presence offers to me.

I want to make better choices, to lay down the weight.

I don’t want to be your victim. Or mine.

I want to be free of this anger.

So. I am learning to love. Again. The right way. And instead of burning up myself with wrath, I am burning up the list of wrongs I carry folded up in the pockets of my heart. Writing the good, forgetting the bad.

Yeah. Leaving those things which are behind, I press forward. In love, where I have no more lists of wrongs.


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