It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

How would we see the gang war in Texas if the faces had been black?
Unless you’re suicidal, an armed march on D.C. is a very bad idea
I should have said this long ago: ‘I’m lucky to have you in my life’
Are you ready for chaos when fed shutdown turns your gravity off?
We need loving communities so we can know, ‘You’re not alone’
We’re great at making big plans, but God laughs at our intentions
She’s miserable in life she chose, but she’s too proud to change now
Emotional toll from surgery harder than physical recovery
What’s so important to you that you’d like to take it to your grave?