Moving on

by Jane Johnson Struck

 

My fingertips tapped impatiently on the armchair as I listened intently on my cell. A girlfriend had called, and, for the past several minutes, we'd chitchatted about family doings and my upcoming vacation.

Then, somehow, our conversation had taken a left turn toward an all-too-familiar destination: her divorce. The day before, she'd encountered one of her ex's acquaintances. "She told me he's not looking so hot," my girlfriend chortled. Then, "More of our friends are giving him the cold shoulder. That's what he gets for betraying me. Can you believe he's now shacking up with some trophy babe who could be his daughter?"

I sighed inaudibly as she continued to focus on lingering resentments. My friend's pain was real and warranted, I knew. And I knew her method of processing it involved a repeated analysis of every verbal and facial nuance related to the situation. But, usually a compliant accomplice, I was growing weary of this one-sided vent.
So I told my friend she hadn't deserved such treatment from her spouse, reminded her she was now much better off, and then introduced some more positive topics we could discuss. After finally hanging up, however, I still couldn't disconnect from my friend's dilemma. She's perpetuating a vicious cycle, I diagnosed. She keeps picking at her wounds and reopening them. No wonder they're not healing!

Then, while I focused my frustration on the speck in my friend's eye, God showed me the plank in my own. With sudden and unexpected clarity, I saw I wasn't that different from my hurting friend. When I'd experienced a recent setback, I, too, had let myself wallow in self-pity. Intuitively, I'd known the setback was a much-needed, God-directed course correction. But because of my hurt pride, I'd told myself I could wait a little while before I moved on.

Months later, however, I was still occasionally picking at my wounds and seeking the salve of others' affirmations to make me feel better—temporarily. When emotions of hurt or betrayal knocked unbidden at my heart's door, I never hesitated to open up and spend time visiting with them.

God brought to mind the phrase to entertain thoughts. When I practice hospitality, I gladly open my home and make visitors feel as welcome as possible. I focus on them, engage with them, attend to them. Was I entertaining negative thoughts with the same care and attention I gave flesh-and-blood guests?

I'm learning that to truly move on, I need to keep the door shut against self-pity's knocking. I need to resist the temptation to rehash. I need to stop picking at wounds and let them heal on their own, in God's time. I need to employ the Holy Spirit's power to bring every thought captive to Christ, and to reject the ones I find guilty pleasure in feting.

I’m not sure how I'll handle my friend's next phone call. But I know how I'll handle the temptation to continue entertaining my hurts: I'm going to ask God to call the party off—before it begins.