The neighbor who’s been so nasty has water in her basement. I’m no psycho-analyst but I’m guessing whatever sinister secret shadow she keeps down in her subconscious is coming to the surface.
I want to rise above my petty anger and wish her well, but it’s difficult. Compassion is not for sissies. I prayed that her basement stayed safe through yesterday’s storm, one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. A year ago I would have asked for the entire house to float away, her in it.
I don’t want to be beholden to my resentments. I want to be free, and the price of freedom is forgiveness. To Love where you’ve been wounded is a high calling, but the choice seems clear and obvious. Hatred makes you a hater. Don’t we have enough of them already? Hate feels good, momentarily, but do you really want to live in a flooded basement?