I was looking for a quote the other day for a client's blog when I came across this quote by Martin Luther King, Jr.
"Never succumb to the temptation of bitterness."
Read it again slowly. It has more meaning that way.
Never succumb to the temptation of bitterness.
Never, not ever, not on any day, in any moment, for even a second, should you allow yourself to give in to the call of bitterness; for she does, indeed, call out to you. She wants you. She seduces you to come to her side. But Bitterness is a liar and a cruel mistress.
Never succumb, nor give in, nor release yourself to, nor shackle yourself to Bitterness. She is cunning, and her chains are heavy and binding.
Never succumb to the temptation. Oh how easy it is to give way to the temptation. To allow yourself that short moment to justify your anger, to rationalize your hurt.
How sweet the scent of Bitterness as she presses in, whispering seductively, "You deserve to be mad. No one has the right to treat you that way."
Never succumb to the temptation of Bitterness. For once you have opened the door to her, she will not soon leave.
All that to say, bitterness is like a chili dog, it tastes good going down, but the lingering effects aren't good for you or anyone around you.
(I thought I'd end sounding more like Carol Jones and less like Henry Ward Beecher.)
I was driving home last Friday morning from an early morning walk with friends. For a Friday, the roads were surprisingly empty, but I suppose it's because it was the Friday after the Fourth of July and more people than usual were sleeping in.
As I drove, somewhat lost in my own thoughts, I happened to notice a gorgeous black lab sitting in the median up ahead of me. He sat there, very stoic-looking, and incredibly relaxed for a dog sitting in a median. As I approached, I realized he was sitting next to another dog who was dead.
When I got home, I couldn't shake the image of the beautiful black lab standing guard over what I can only assume was his friend, his fellow traveler, his mate. He didn't appear to be anxious, or waiting for help. He simply sat, perhaps still in shock, perhaps mourning, perhaps simply not knowing what to do next.
Feeling His Pain
And oddly, I felt a kinship to his story. A very huge part of what I know to be "me" is gone. And I find that I am simply sitting, somewhat in shock (yes, still), somewhat in mourning, and somewhat simply not knowing what to do next.
On a walk with a friend this morning, I was explaining to her that I feel lost in trying to re-establish community within the church. And it occurred to me as we talked, that all the reasons I give for not being "able" to find a church to attend are excuses. The real reason is that I am mad "at" the church, and therefore don't really want to attend any church.
She told me that was like having a bad experience with an oil and gas company and deciding I just wasn't going to ever buy oil and gas again. . . (or something like that . . . I was in the moment. It was beautiful when she said it.)
The Middle of the Road
At its core, I have unforgiveness in my heart. I am frozen in that unforgiveness, and I am the only one who can really do anything at all about it. It's somewhat disheartening to know that I have within myself, the Power to set myself free. And yet, like that beautiful black lab, I choose to sit, frozen in the middle of the road, unable or unwilling to move.
All that to say, knowing WHAT to do and DOING it are often two very different things. I can't sit here in the middle of the road much longer, for it's a very dangerous place to sit. I am assured that God's best for me is still ahead of me. I'm just gonna need to get ON the road and out of the middle of it.
Carol
