Respond with Love

Last summer I came to an important decision in my life. I had to choose whether or not to continue a relationship with a person who, at one point, at least, had been my friend. Sort of. Mostly. It's complicated.
The relationship, however, had formed a rather toxic layer to it, and it was clear to me (if not to her) that it was not beneficial to either of us. In fact, it wasn't just "not beneficial," because that implies that it could have been neutral; it was detrimental. Neither of us were happy, and I made the call. Time of death: somewhere around Bella's bedtime late in the summer.

She did not react well.

She laid some pretty hefty accusations against me. She said some pretty mean things. I tried not to be hurt, and mostly I wasn't; our history together had taught me that it probably wasn't me. I was just the whipping boy. (I know, I'm talking like I was in the right. And I really think I was. I wouldn't be talking that way if I didn't think so. She thinks she was in the right - it's a vicious cycle. But this part is my story, so for this part, I was right.)

Halfway through the drama (I despise drama) as I was driving home, I was stopped by a train. I was alone in the car, thinking (stewing?) over the recent events with said former friend, convincing myself that she was WAY out of line and wondering how I was going to react to it. Not deciding...wondering. Because at that point I was not the rock, I was the wave. I was not sturdy and strong and sure and immovable - I was splashy and manic and dashed all to pieces. I liked to think that I would be kind and understanding at best; or at least, just ignore her latest assault. But what I was tempted to do was rip her apart, because I WAS RIGHT. Remember?

Anyway, I stopped at the train tracks, and the car in front of me had a bumper sticker that changed my world. It was a small blue sticker with white letters that contained only three words:

Respond with love.

That was it. No logos, no images, no website address or phone number, no company name - NOTHING. Just the words, "Respond with love." And I'm telling you, as plain as the nose on my face, I knew that God had orchestrated that moment specifically because I needed it. My whole insides changed. I didn't care if I was right or not; I just knew that she was hurting and needed a place to direct all that hurt. She was angry and needed a place to vent all that anger. She was unhappy, and in her mind, I was pretty much the complete cause of it. And all of a sudden, I didn't mind. I had compassion for her, not indignation. (There would have been nothing "righteous" about my indignation anyway; it would have been all self-satisfied pride.)

I did respond with love. I was as soft, as sympathetic, as caring as I could be. I'll admit, part of it was because I wanted to be able to be held blameless; but truly, most of it was because, well....I pitied her. I still do.

It didn't seem to help. She was as angry as ever, and we parted ways pretty badly. But I think of her, and I remember those words, and I pray for her.

I wonder how often Jesus met and dealt with people that drove him crazy. People he knew were completely wrong - in their beliefs, their actions, their attitudes, their words - and his response was always compassion. I wonder how often God looks at me and I drive him absolutely crazy, because I'm wrong - just wrong - and he responds with compassion.

I haven't seen her in months. It was pretty clear that she wants it that way. But those three words stuck, and I see them in my head, all the time. And if she and I do ever meet again, they will be right there, reminding me what I should do, all thanks to a train and a little blue sticker.