Do not say, "I will pay you back for this wrong!" Wait for the Lord and He will deliver you. Proverbs 20:22
When I was in fourth grade, I began to daydream about having another mother. Anyone but my own. (It may also have been the first inkling of my attraction to persons of the same sex.) If her presence invaded my fantasies, they were ruined. I don't know exactly what happened to turn my heart so much against this woman. As a young child, she was a great mom, involved in my school and life, not acting like I was an unwanted burden on her. This point of my life, fourth grade, maybe as early as third grade is to where I can trace the "something" that changed a good woman into a monster. I think it was alcohol, but I was twenty-seven or so before I was made aware of this. My mother was not a falling-down drunk so I could not connect the great gallon jugs of Gallo wine, flats of beer and bottles of gin with her behavior. They were just nasty-tasting drinks to me. The monster she became blamed me for everything. There seemed to be no let-up to her endless punishments. Then, during a time of peace, I ran away with a friend for no apparent reason, and that was the beginning of the end. When I ended up in a group home, she became even more vindicative (And people who KNEW did not happen to mention to me that she had a problem with alcohol. This would have given me a lot more insight.) and cruel. My parents did not attend my graduation even though I had managed to pull my GPA up from a 1.5 in my freshman year to graduate with honors. In fact, their only directive to me was to not send my graduation announcements to their relatives and friends as it was "begging" for presents. It did not occur to me that the reason I cried so bitterly at my graduation party was this painful blow. I did not know why I cried; I just did. The death of my grandmother the next year unleashed the brunt of my hatred for her; Before, I blamed myself for everything even though I tried to get her to take at least partial responsibility for hers. After she sent a terse "Your grandmother died" (A week before)and her ashes were scattered on the desert (I never knew she even LIKED the desert), I no longer even tried to hide my hatred. She had taken something away, someone, actually, that I had really loved...and she could never, ever make it up to me. (Although she did not feel any need to try.) After my grandmother died, she also transfered all the hate she had dumped on this dear woman on me. (This was my father's mother.)My hatred was an obsession, eating at me, replaying in my mind like an unending video, a termite devouring the foundation of a house. I hated her deeply, fully and completely. I hated her for the damage she had done in my life and never asked forgiveness for. I hated her for leaving me in that group home until I went to college, away from my childhood friends. I hated her for possessing my dad, whom I loved, so completely that he was willing to sacrifice me. I hated her because hatred was what she taught me. Until I was walking across my college campus one evening, engrossed in a "mom in hell" fantasy; the smallest voice, even a gentle voice said into my heart:
"Forever"
This was the turning point in my life. I began to see that my desire for revenge was actually sin because God wants to SAVE not punish. It would be years before I was able to get rid of the hate completely, but it was a beginning; in giving up my desire for revenge, God began to deliver me from an even stronger prison; the hatred that kept me prisoner for so many years.
