Some lessons take years to learn. Others keep revisiting you until you finally open your hands and say, “Fiat.” Let it be done unto me.
I’ve spoken and written a lot about resentment, about control, about the quiet bitterness that grows when our expectations go unmet.
Now, before I write anything further, as you probably noticed, I have been drawing less from psychology and science and more from theology these days. Never in my past world would I have thought that I would be quoting from the Bible… I thought only ‘religious nut-cases’ do this – sorry to offend anyone by saying that – but I need to be honest. But as they say, age brings wisdom, so I am going to read a book that offers us a lot of wisdom.
The passage of Scripture I want to tie in is Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:10, which reshaped my thinking about resentment—not just in hindsight, but right in the midst of the mess I went through and still go through.
“Therefore, I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
For a long time, I couldn’t take pleasure in any of my suffering! Like many of you, I’ve walked through marital tension, job stress, physical strain, and the emotional labour of raising kids who don’t quite see the world, or our home, the way we do. Looking back on my marriage, I can now say I give thanks for the insults, the disrespect, the sarcasm, even the bodily aches that came from carrying it all. Why? Because it was through those trials that I rediscovered my faith.
I recently heard a talk on bitterness where the speaker emphasized the importance of giving thanks during the pain, which is transformative, rather than after the pain.
I want to live that way now. I want to meet every sigh, every emotional jab, every rejection, with a posture of gratitude. Not because it feels good. But because it roots me in God. My soul is restless until it rests in Him, and if bitterness blocks that rest, then I must choose to displace bitterness with something stronger: contentment.
Not passive resignation, but a soul-deep satisfaction in God’s will for me. Because if we truly want to walk the path of peace, then we need to see that peace isn’t something I have to protect. Peace is something I allow to protect me. And I do that through gratitude.
The Hardest Bitterness to Shake Is When It’s Your Child
If I’m being honest, the bitterness I wrestle with most today isn’t about my marriage. It’s about parenting. One of my sons has been particularly difficult. He lives in our home but sees it less as a shared life and more as a place he has a right to exist, on his terms. Respect isn’t reciprocated. Honour isn’t given.
And while I could choose to be bitter, and some days I do, I’m learning that bitterness doesn’t cleanse the wound. It cauterizes it. And then it festers. Forgiveness isn’t the end goal here. Contentment is.
Because forgiveness can still leave a vacancy, an empty emotional room where resentment once lived, and if you don’t fill that room with something, resentment will come back. Maybe stronger. Maybe meaner. I don’t want that anymore.
So I’ve started praying differently. Instead of asking God to change him, I ask God to change me. To keep me tender. To help me stay at peace, not because my son has done anything to deserve it, but because Christ did. He gave thanks for his suffering before He suffered and allowed peace to infiltrate Him through his trust in God.
What Good Could Possibly Come of This?
This question haunts many parents.
What good could come from this heartache? The disrespect? The distance? The tension between spouses who don’t know how to help each other or help the child?
I’m not sure I know the whole answer yet. But I’m starting to believe that the good isn’t always about a fix. Maybe it’s about formation.
Maybe my husband and I are being shaped through this tension. We may be learning how to intercede, not by preaching or fixing, but by standing in the space between anger and indifference, and choosing love instead.
Sometimes, that’s all we can do. Love quietly. Thank God anyway. And trust that what looks like failure might be the tilling of stubborn soil. That stubborn soil is our own strong wills.
When I feel bitterness creeping in toward my child, my spouse, or even God, I don’t try to “get over it.” I speak a word of gratitude. I tell God: Thank you for this, even if I don’t yet understand it.
That’s how peace begins to guard me. Not because I figured out the problem. But because I let go of needing to.
Letting go doesn’t mean giving up. It means handing it over to the only one strong enough to carry it.
And if that’s all I do today, maybe that’s enough.
Fiat.
I will try to update you in a few months… 😬