Moving Beyond Retaliation

A while ago, someone stole our dog, Crash. They entered the yard and unclipped him from his lead at the barn. He was a beautiful dog, friendly, cheerful, and excellent with children.  

In the days and weeks after, I struggled with anger and bitterness. Every time I thought I had confessed and removed it all from my mind and heart, I’d drive past the house of the people we suspected of stealing him, and those feelings would well up again. It didn’t help that any time I left home, I had to drive right past that place. This was a daily struggle, even though there was no way to know for sure if they were the culprits, especially since they live out-of-state 90% of the time.
I tried to reason my way out of the anger. As great a dog as he was, Crash had a couple of faults that had become problematic—once a dog kills a chicken, it’s hard to break them of it—and one of those faults was why he was tied up that night.
I tried to stuff my feelings about him into the back closet of my mind. But the door kept popping open, spewing the yuck all through me. We loved that dog. We had nursed him through a couple of injuries. Another flaw Crash had was being accident prone. He was living up to his name, even though he was named after the character Crash in the movie Ice Age for his looks, and not for being accident prone.
I tried putting it into perspective. He’s just a dog! Not a child. Not one of my kids or grandkids. Not my husband. Not a person! But it didn’t remove the hurt in my heart over losing him. Yes. He was just a dog, and he had some major flaws. But we loved and missed him greatly.
In all honesty, I wanted to retaliate. In fact, in my thoughts, I did. Many times. And every time, God convicted me. He reminded me that if I wanted to get rid of the anger, hurt and bitterness, I had to replace them with something else.
My way of dealing with the mess inside me wasn’t working. It was time to try God’s way. But I didn’t want to.
I did not want to pray for them.
But God was persistent and oh-so gentle with me. He pursued me and loved me even as I thought all kinds of meanness against my neighbor. Finally, out of desperation, I said, “Fine! I’ll try it Your way. But I don’t want to.” Childish, but true.
Those first prayers were with clenched jaw, fists wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. At least twice a day, I prayed for them as I drove to and from work.
Then something began to change. Subtly. Quietly. Almost imperceptibly.
I began to change. My jaw quit hurting. My fingers didn’t clench. God was changing me and my heart through prayer.
Was Crash returned to us? No. He’s still gone. Do I still look for him? Yes. But the anger and bitterness ebbed away. Do I still pray as I drive past their house? Yes. Because some days it tries to slip back in, so I pray for them. And if they aren’t the ones who took Crash, that’s okay. I’m using the situation as a reminder to pray for them specifically.
Retaliation doesn’t fix things. Not actual retaliation, and not imagined retaliation. All it does is poison you more. Prayer is the game changer.