So many people seem to think it's crazy that I don't, deep down hate him.
I just don't. I have loved him for 14 years, and while I do not romantically love him now, a part of me has love for him, for his soul and his eternity. A part of me cares for his well being and hopes that he will turn his life around and come back to the path that is good. I pray he can mend his ways and relationships with those he has cut himself loose from.
Yes, people have told me that is crazy of me. Sometimes, I feel it is, too.
I will admit, there have been a few times I have thrown the word "hate" around in regard to all of this, whether it's hating what has happened or what has been done or what has become, and possibly I have said I hate him too, or that I have the potential to. I have even gone so far as to wish that I did or could for feeling that it would be easier to cope. (I realize how wrong that is.)
And then I realize not long after that I don't. I do not hate him, anyway. I sometimes tell myself it would be easier if I did. But I just do not hate. Perhaps you see that as weak. I see it as strength. I do hate, despise, detest what has happened to my family, yes. I do hate the choices he has made. I do not hate him.
I feel compassion and remorse when I think less than desirable things toward a person. It's just how I am.
I think that's God in me.
I have read the verse I placed above many times. Tonight, though, it actually spoke to me. I had to share it.
