I used to hate roses. I used to hate a lot of things. For…reasons, true, reasons with logic and arguments and such, I had very strong opinions against certain things. Like Hannah Montana, Claire Danes, romantic movies, and an entire chasm of things useless to catalog that I can’t very well remember.
And when I say I used to hate roses, I mean I was REALLY not a fan. I pretty much turned my nose up at anything rose related. But ya know what? I like roses. I saw one a few weeks ago in a friend’s back yard, and it was beautiful. It was well crafted and soft and smelled sweet and I didn’t care about it’s thorns or the bees buzzing about them. I just had the chance to appreciate them for what they were.
It’s a valid thing to have opinions and to care about things, but I’m grateful for a season in life when, for reasons unknown to me, the Lord is stripping me of most of my capacity for hatefulness. He’s turning my eyes again and again upward, reminding me that he is SO good, and that there is real evil in the world, and so sure I can pray that Miley Cyrus puts some clothes on and that Hollywood has a revival of the Spirit…
but hatefulness is just wasted energy.