One Week
Throughout this month, to counter the hate I see growing in our world, I vowed to fill my social media accounts with messages and stories about love in all its forms. I wanted to inspire people, to give them hope, to remind them that love is the ultimate healer. I thought it would be an easy thing to do. But then…
“Nobody likes you.”
It was loud, purposeful and malicious. Afterward, people laughed.
“I don’t care,” she responded. But she cared.
The next day:
“You are so beautiful. You have such a beautiful heart. I can’t wait to see you again.”
And then…
(Crickets.)
A friend, unable to explain the unexplainable, consoled, “I’m sorry. People suck.”
The next day:
Exclusion.
“I looked down when they chose because I knew nobody would choose me.”
The next day:
Sickness. With too much to do. It was not a good time to be sidelined. Self pity. Isolation. Did anyone care? Why can’t someone take care of me for once? I wondered. But I kept going as best I could, because that’s what people do.
And on and on the week went. I quietly absorbed her blows and my blows. I patted her hand in comfort and I held my own. I was disillusioned. I did not want to write or post anything about love because in those moments I couldn’t see love or feel love. In my mind, we were in the trenches, being attacked by hate and - arguably worse - indifference.
Anger began to simmer within me. It was the kind of anger that keeps you up at night, that makes you burn to make others feel as badly as they made you or your loved one feel. When sleep wouldn’t come, I played around in my head with the cruel words that would send these haters reeling.
My heart was hardening.
But then…
A sweet handwritten note from a young piano student, stuck in my mailbox, addressed to “Mrs. Boof.” His mom said it was all his idea.
My heart softened a little.
The next day:
“X invited me to sit with her. I’m so happy.”
My heart softened a little more.
The next days:
Sloppy wet kisses from a sweet dog so happy to finally have a home. A sincere thank you. A long drive accompanied by a beautiful sunset that only God’s hand could paint. A compliment from a handsome, blue-eyed stranger. A weekend laughing with old and new friends. Time cheering on our children. Time encouraging bravery and modeling team spirit and inclusion.
My heart started to feel even lighter.
And finally, Sunday:
Home. A single pink rose greets me on the kitchen counter. It peeks sweetly out of a makeshift vase made from a dark green plastic drinking cup.
Whose flower is this? I inquire. Not mine, says one.
Then Son says, “It’s for you….I got it before I realized you were leaving for the weekend.”
Confusion. It isn’t my birthday or a holiday.
“Awww. For what?” I ask him.
“Not really a specific reason.”
I’m back writing again, with my original soft heart and conviction to spread the good news:
I was right all along. Hate may have its minutes, its hours or its days, but love always wins.
