Saying No To Resentment

I couldn’t believe what my husband was telling me. A group of people had made an unexpected and hurtful decision that greatly affected our young family. That one act instantly changed the circumstances and trajectory of our lives in ways we neither wanted nor sought. We didn’t think their decision was correct, let alone deserved. But even though what they’d done didn’t seem right to us, we had no choice but to accept it and try to move on.

However, we couldn’t literally move on for months, and as further actions ensued from the person who seemed to have led the decision, I let full-on resentment move into the guest room of my heart. I did my best to be outwardly cordial and helpful and . . . well, fake. I told myself I was behaving in a forgiving manner, but resentment—with some pride thrown in—drove my true attitude: I won’t give this person the satisfaction of knowing how much we’ve been hurt.

Instead of saying no to resentment, I let it stay until it packed its bags and left on its own. Or so I thought. Years later I discovered the person I considered the most guilty for hurting us had wronged some other people even more seriously. My honest reaction? See, that’s what this person is really like. And my worst thought? My resentment is justified.

Not was justified, but is justified.

The resentment I thought was my right to house had become so unobtrusive—so out of sight, so out of mind—I thought it had left the premises. Instead it had quietly become a permanent resident in my heart’s guest room, more soul-draining than I knew. It was sneaking nourishment, stealing my peace, taking space that could have instead accommodated more love and forgiveness. And I hadn’t realized it.

I hadn’t become a bitter person, but had I failed just the same? I hadn’t exactly invited or welcomed my resentment, but had I been wrong to house and feed it? Was my offender troubled with challenges I knew nothing about, but had I been too immature, perhaps in years and certainly in faith, to consider anyone but myself?

I believe the answer to all those questions is yes. Worse, I had left the door open for other resentments to take advantage of my ill-advised hospitality—that time at work; that time at church; that time she or he or they did or didn’t do or say whatever seemed right to me.

I still have a lot to learn.

I’m not convinced ridding the heart’s guest room of its occupying resentments can always be accomplished in a once-and-for-all eviction. Sometimes returning resentment gets as far as the foyer before I notice it. Other times I suddenly wake up to resentment so settled in that it’s comfortably snoring nearby, safe and secure. How did it get there, and what does it take to get it out? Sometimes resentment disguises itself as childish jealousy or envy and slips right through that door. Sometimes it looks like righteous anger, but it’s not. It’s just anger after all.

God helps with the eviction process, but what I really need is a guard.

Philippians 4:7 makes a promise: “The peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (NIV). I’m getting better at asking for that guardian peace, better at asking God to help me clear out resentment and avoid unwanted occupancy in the first place. By not giving resentment a home, I am capable of offering my neighbor—even one who hurts me—forgiveness and grace.

Resentment might push for a comfy, extended stay in our hearts’ guest rooms, but with the right guard in place, we can say no. Scripture tells us what we do in our hearts flows from our hearts: “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it” (Prov. 4:23 NIV). May what flows from our hearts be love and forgiveness, not resentment and pride.

Jean Kavich Bloom is a champion coffee drinker and mostly productive, pink-bathrobed freelance editor and writer. She does not garden, bake, or knit but says playing Scrabble is exactly the same thing. Jean and her husband, Cal, live in Indiana. They have three children (plus two who married in) and five grandchildren. You can read her blog at bloominwordstoo.blogspot.com.