I will not go into the details of what has caused me to harbor it. Those are things reserved for the privacy of my journal and my personal conversations with God. But what I will say is that this began with the well-meaning intentions of one who fights fear, and this fear triggered a series of events that left me feeling betrayed, traumatized, and broken beyond belief.
I have come to believe there is truth in a certain Star Wars character's words - fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate. In fairness, it is not as bad as it could be. I need to acknowledge the cliche - it could be worse. It could be so much worse. There are things that could have happened, and didn't. God, in mercy, came through and answered desperate cries. He healed what could have been permanently broken. He is still healing now. Yet at the same time, I have had to learn to build myself back up, gather the courage to forgive, and fight to move ahead with my life. It has been a battle of several months now. I am still battling this demon with the name hatred.
Scenarios pound through my head, visions of payback. Revenge. Justice. At least, my weak, flawed view of justice. I want to make them pay for what they did, not only to me but to someone I love. Verses in the Bible about hatred being murder and vengeance belonging only to God both haunt and confront me. I am drowning in darkness.
I grew up the daughter of a pastor. I am beyond thankful for this blessing. It was a gift, a replacement for the father who abandoned me at birth and left scars that have never truly healed. My dad always told me that it's ok to yell at God. "He can take it," he said. I have done this in previous seasons of my life. I cried out to God when my birth mother showed her true colors. I cried out to Him when I wanted to end my life. I cried out to Him when I was feeling friendless and alone. I cried out to Him when I was going through a breakup. I cried out to Him when I found myself battered and broken from a toxic relationship in my first year of college.
More than anyone else, God, my first Love, has seen my darkness. He has seen the darkness I caused, the darkness others caused that I was swept up in, and the darkness I myself have contributed to. None of it changed His mind. None of it could chase Him away. This truth came back to me now. It was ok to admit my hatred. It was ok to admit my hurt. I could pour all the ugly and gross and messy out on His feet, and He would take it. He, the Light, could handle my darkness.
So, one afternoon when I had the house to myself, I let it all go. The dark, the ugly, the broken, the sinful. Tears and hateful words spilled out, desires of revenge and threats, the pain of betrayal and the pain of shattered trust, it all flowed out as a river to Heaven. I sent my deepest, darkest thoughts straight to the heart of the Father, and found my own heart relieved and freed. Soon the tears were regret, my heart reproaching me because I know that so much of what I battle right now reflects a character so unlike Jesus.
But in spite of the chaos, I knew that I had been heard. Perfectly understood. The darkness and light alike in me were exposed and known. I wasn't ashamed of what I had poured out in the sense that I tried to retract or hide it. I had been honest with God.
I am now wondering if the only way hatred can be overcome is by acknowledging it rather than forcing it away. My only moments of peace in this battle are the times I have poured it out instead of bottling it in. Not on others. Not to others. Only to God. Honesty with Him brings freedom. He is my safe space.
In this safe space, I can not only learn to let go of my hatred, but I find forgiveness. Forgiveness that I can give others because my stubborn, dark heart has been forgiven.
This experience reminds me of Job, a man of God who was brutally honest. He was also angry. Also bitter. Yet he did not curse God. There are many lessons in his story, yet I would consider the most important is that he maintained his relationship in the midst of suffering. He didn't abandon his faith. He held on to God. He fought, cried, complained, even blamed, but he held on. He never turned away.
So, like Job, I will keep coming with this burden, continuing to give it, continuing to release it, as long as I must until this battle is won. Because the point of Christianity isn't that there isn't a battle. It's the One who fights in our stead, our safe space in the war zone.
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