My mother prayed things would change, but our prayers were unanswered. Every day I came home hurt as my anger grew. What made it worse was hearing my mother talk about a God who I felt abandoned us.
“How was school today, honey?” my mother asked.
“If people hate me for how I look, then how is God any different?” I questioned.
“If we just loved people who loved us, honey, then there is no reward in that. If we can love those who have hurt us and even wronged us, they might come to know that God is real because of what they see Him do through us,” my mother explained.
My mother had this very passive Jesus approach to dealing with people, so I listened. I think my parents hoped if we loved others unconditionally, then they would change and surrender to God. I tried to love, but I didn't know how to continue loving while being abused. I was starting to feel only hate, but there was a small ounce of hope left in me. That ounce of hope had me believe that if I didn't fight back, then my mother might be right and that I might be able to see Jesus alive in all of us.
Rather than fight back, I decided to look away. It helped me to not hate them and continue to try and love them. I found myself looking away even if the person meant me no harm.
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