Today I’m going to write about something that makes me look bad. Maybe.
My ex-husband’s family held a memorial service for Jolene today, in the state where he lives. For some reason that really bothered me.
Without going into details, my divorce from my ex-husband left us both bitter. I have come a long ways towards forgiveness and letting go. I thought the funeral arrangements demonstrated the change. I bent over backwards to accommodate his requests—even the request that we hold the service on Friday instead of Monday, which meant we could not adequately inform local friends.
I thought I had grown, that is, until today. My ex planned the service and date without any consideration of whether or not I could, or would want to, come. I was angry.
A wise friend advised me, “This service is for him. Not for Jolene.” And I was totally satisfied with the service we held. It was beautiful, meaningful, comforting. I had no reason to resent a second service. The ugly truth was, not only was I angry—I was jealous.
I’ve heard that family squabbles often interfere with grief. I just didn’t think it would be me.
Love your enemies. I’m trying, Lord.
This week I return to a normal work hours; that means an eight-hour day tomorrow. Your prayers are appreciated.