January 25: Pray for Those you Resent
My favorite story about praying for those I resent is one I told in Playing It by Heart.
Here it is again:
Years ago, when I spotted the Stillwater Gazette, the oldest family-owned daily newspaper in existence, I knew I wanted to work there. I could feel it—in my bones and in my heart. When I went in to the offices to apply for the job, however, the owner didn’t have the same feeling I did. He had an opening for a reporter, but he wanted to hire someone else. Abigail, he said, was the right one for this job.
I prayed for Abigail every day. I asked God to take care of her, guide her, and bless her richly and abundantly. I prayed for her because that’s what I had been taught to do—pray for those you resent. Sometimes I prayed for her three or four times each day. I prayed for her this much because I resented her that much.
God, I hated Abigail.
For the next months, almost half a year, I tromped down to the Gazette once a week, begging to be hired. Finally, I got a job there. But it wasn’t the one I wanted. Abigail, bless her heart, had mine.
She got the best story assignments. She worked so quickly and with such journalistic ease.
So I kept praying, “God bless Abigail,” because that’s all I knew to do.
Over the months, as I got my lesser assignments from the editor—lesser than Abigail’s, that is—I began to watch her work. She wrote quickly and efficiently. Got right to the point. She was a good interviewer, too. I started pushing myself to write better, and more quickly. If Abigail can do it, so can I, I told myself. My enemy began to inspire me. Over the weeks and months that transpired, I spent more and more time around Abigail. I listened to her talk. I listened to her stories. Slowly, my enemy became my friend.
One day Abigail and I were having coffee. I looked at her, looked straight in her eyes. And suddenly I realized, I didn’t hate Abigail anymore. She was doing her job. I was doing mine.
Soon, I got an offer from a publisher to write a book. I was glad I didn’t have Abigail’s job; I wouldn’t have had time to write that book. Then one day in June 1987, that book hit the New York Times best-seller list.
Years later, I wrote the story about Abigail in Playing It by Heart. The book got published. I returned to Minnesota to do a book signing. I was in the bookstore’s bathroom, washing my hands, when a woman approached me.
“Hi, Melody,” she said. I looked at her, confused. “It’s Abigail,” she said. Abigail wasn’t her real name; it was a name I had given her in the story. But with those words, I realized she had read the story. She knew she was Abigail, and she knew how I once felt.
We joked about it for a few moments. I asked her how her life was. She said she had quit writing and had become a wife and mother. I said I was still writing, and my years as a wife and mother were for the most part over.
Resentments are such silly little things. Envy is silly, too. But those silly little things can eat away at our hearts. Sometimes, people are put in our lives to teach us about what we’re capable of.
Sometimes, the people we perceive as enemies are really our friends. Is there someone in your life you’re spending energy feeling envious of or resentful toward? Could that person be there to teach you something about yourself that you don’t know or to inspire you along your path? You’ll not know the answer to that question until you get the envy and resentment out of your heart.
God, thank you for the people I resent and envy. Bless them richly. Open doors for them, shower them with abundance. Help me know that my success doesn’t depend on their failure; it’s equivalent to how much I ask you to bless them.
Here it is again:
Years ago, when I spotted the Stillwater Gazette, the oldest family-owned daily newspaper in existence, I knew I wanted to work there. I could feel it—in my bones and in my heart. When I went in to the offices to apply for the job, however, the owner didn’t have the same feeling I did. He had an opening for a reporter, but he wanted to hire someone else. Abigail, he said, was the right one for this job.
I prayed for Abigail every day. I asked God to take care of her, guide her, and bless her richly and abundantly. I prayed for her because that’s what I had been taught to do—pray for those you resent. Sometimes I prayed for her three or four times each day. I prayed for her this much because I resented her that much.
God, I hated Abigail.
For the next months, almost half a year, I tromped down to the Gazette once a week, begging to be hired. Finally, I got a job there. But it wasn’t the one I wanted. Abigail, bless her heart, had mine.
She got the best story assignments. She worked so quickly and with such journalistic ease.
So I kept praying, “God bless Abigail,” because that’s all I knew to do.
Over the months, as I got my lesser assignments from the editor—lesser than Abigail’s, that is—I began to watch her work. She wrote quickly and efficiently. Got right to the point. She was a good interviewer, too. I started pushing myself to write better, and more quickly. If Abigail can do it, so can I, I told myself. My enemy began to inspire me. Over the weeks and months that transpired, I spent more and more time around Abigail. I listened to her talk. I listened to her stories. Slowly, my enemy became my friend.
One day Abigail and I were having coffee. I looked at her, looked straight in her eyes. And suddenly I realized, I didn’t hate Abigail anymore. She was doing her job. I was doing mine.
Soon, I got an offer from a publisher to write a book. I was glad I didn’t have Abigail’s job; I wouldn’t have had time to write that book. Then one day in June 1987, that book hit the New York Times best-seller list.
Years later, I wrote the story about Abigail in Playing It by Heart. The book got published. I returned to Minnesota to do a book signing. I was in the bookstore’s bathroom, washing my hands, when a woman approached me.
“Hi, Melody,” she said. I looked at her, confused. “It’s Abigail,” she said. Abigail wasn’t her real name; it was a name I had given her in the story. But with those words, I realized she had read the story. She knew she was Abigail, and she knew how I once felt.
We joked about it for a few moments. I asked her how her life was. She said she had quit writing and had become a wife and mother. I said I was still writing, and my years as a wife and mother were for the most part over.
Resentments are such silly little things. Envy is silly, too. But those silly little things can eat away at our hearts. Sometimes, people are put in our lives to teach us about what we’re capable of.
Sometimes, the people we perceive as enemies are really our friends. Is there someone in your life you’re spending energy feeling envious of or resentful toward? Could that person be there to teach you something about yourself that you don’t know or to inspire you along your path? You’ll not know the answer to that question until you get the envy and resentment out of your heart.
God, thank you for the people I resent and envy. Bless them richly. Open doors for them, shower them with abundance. Help me know that my success doesn’t depend on their failure; it’s equivalent to how much I ask you to bless them.
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