It’s been a hard 72 hours. Something that I said in good faith, a criticism of a thing, hurt someone’s feelings; she feels personally insulted. Her husband raked me over the coals. I feel attacked.
This could have been avoided if other people had followed a reasonable protocol for providing information. No matter, the job has been done, and I feel scraped raw in the process.
It’s my nature to take such incidents entirely to heart, to assign for myself more than my fair share of blame. I used to believe (because I was told so by my parents) that if someone got upset, or was offended, or had their feelings hurt, it had to be my fault. Now I know that isn’t always true; sometimes people are emotional, sometimes they look for reasons to be offended and upset. Another person on the committee I spoke to about this issue assured me that my comments were perfectly lucid and reasonable, and with that I am contented.
Of course, I had to wallow in my misery for a while. It’s painful being alone on such occasions – not that a husband or sweetheart could “fix” anything for me, but even a smile on such an occasion (and I could go for a hug, too) goes far to affirming that one is not alone, that one’s sorrow and distress matters to someone who loves us.
But after my habitual tossing and turning, I’ve found some peace in the matter. And I’ve had an odd experience of very rich intercession for other people in the midst of this. Sometimes I know things – and sometimes people just tell me things. Both have been my experience during this conflict, and it’s been sweet to be in a position to be able to pray for them.
Am I possibly learning to “offer it up”? to look beyond my own wounded ego to a greater Truth? I hope so – if some of the complacent crust is crumbled so that I am more earnest and more real in my prayers, if my prayers are effectual, I’ll be contented.