I Didn't Want To Pray For The Person Who Hurt Me

There are some names you don't particularly enjoy bringing before God.

I had one of those names in mind recently. I was sorting through some paperwork when I found an old document connected to a disagreement I'd rather have forgotten. Nothing had happened between us that day, but seeing that piece of paper brought back a conversation I hadn't thought about in months.

I was annoyed all over again.

The funny part was that I'd already forgiven this person. At least, that's what I would've told anyone who asked. I wasn't planning revenge, wasn't going around criticizing them, and genuinely wanted to move on. Apparently, though, I still had a remarkably detailed record of everything they'd done wrong stored somewhere in my head.

I could remember exact sentences and even the tone they used when saying them. Meanwhile, I couldn't remember where I'd put an important document the previous afternoon. It's amazing what your mind decides is worth keeping.

I knew Jesus taught us to pray for people who mistreat us. I also knew I hadn't been particularly interested in doing that.

Forgiveness Sounds Easier When Nobody Has Recently Offended You

I've talked about forgiveness plenty of times over the years. Grace, mercy, releasing bitterness, keeping our hearts right before God. I believe those things, and I've encouraged other Christians to practice them.

Then somebody says something unfair about you, breaks a promise, or takes advantage of your kindness and acts as though you're the unreasonable one for being upset.

Suddenly forgiveness isn't quite so appealing.

I remember one disagreement where I spent far too much time explaining the situation to people who weren't involved. I wasn't spreading malicious gossip, at least that's what I told myself. I was simply helping them understand what happened.

The trouble was that every time I explained it, I became irritated again.

I'd finish the conversation feeling completely justified, which was satisfying for about fifteen minutes. Then I'd remember another detail and start mentally preparing the next explanation. Nobody had asked for one, but apparently I was building a case.

Eventually I had to admit that rehearsing the offense wasn't helping me forgive anybody.

It was keeping the whole thing remarkably fresh.

Jesus Didn't Leave Much Room For Negotiation

Matthew 5:44 is one of those verses I'd occasionally prefer to read quickly.

Jesus says, "But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you."

That's a difficult instruction, particularly when the hurt is recent.

Jesus doesn't tell us to wait until the person apologizes or demonstrates that they've become more reasonable. He tells us to pray for them, and I've tried finding a comfortable exception in that verse more than once.

Of course, not everyone who hurts us is an enemy. Sometimes it's a family member, a Christian friend, a coworker, or somebody we genuinely love. Those situations can be harder because we expected better from them, and sometimes we were right to expect better.

I don't believe forgiveness requires pretending harmful behavior was acceptable. A person can be forgiven without immediately being trusted with the same responsibilities or access they previously had. That's particularly important when someone has repeatedly lied, manipulated, or mistreated others.

You can forgive someone and still recognize that certain boundaries are necessary.

I wish I'd understood that distinction earlier.

The Prayer That Was Really Another Argument

I remember praying about a person who had been difficult to deal with.

My prayer sounded reasonable at first. I asked God to help the person understand what they were doing and recognize how their behavior affected others. I probably sounded quite compassionate if you'd only heard the words.

By the time I'd finished, though, I'd essentially asked God to give them a detailed explanation of everything I'd been wanting to tell them myself.

I wanted correction.

Preferably immediate correction.

And if the Lord wanted to arrange for them to come back and acknowledge that I'd been right, I certainly wasn't going to object.

I was praying for someone while still wanting to win the argument.

That wasn't particularly flattering to recognize, but it was true.

I've also noticed that when I'm hurt, I tend to remember my intentions and the other person's actions. I know what I meant and what I was trying to accomplish. Their behavior, on the other hand, gets judged entirely by what I experienced.

There have been situations where someone genuinely treated me unfairly, and I don't need to rewrite history to make myself look more forgiving. But there have also been times when I contributed more to the problem than I initially recognized.

Maybe my response was unnecessarily sharp. Maybe I assumed something without asking. Maybe I was so concerned about defending my position that I failed to recognize the other person's legitimate concerns.

Those things can exist alongside a genuine offense.

What If The Apology Never Comes?

This is something I've thought about because not every relationship gets a satisfying ending.

Sometimes a person spends years hoping a family member will acknowledge something hurtful. The original disagreement may have happened long ago, but the memory remains surprisingly clear. Everybody else seems to have moved on, while the injured person is still trying to understand why it happened.

Now imagine the apology never comes.

The person responsible might not even acknowledge what they did.

What does forgiveness look like then?

I don't think the answer is simply telling someone to stop feeling hurt. Pain doesn't disappear because we've decided it's inconvenient, and forgiveness isn't the same thing as reconciliation.

Reconciliation involves repairing a relationship, which ordinarily requires honesty and cooperation from the people involved. One person can choose forgiveness, but one person cannot single-handedly rebuild mutual trust.

That's worth remembering when someone has repeatedly behaved in harmful ways.

You can pray for their well-being without inviting them back into a position where they can continue hurting you. You can sincerely wish them well while recognizing that the relationship needs to look different going forward.

Some of those decisions are painful, especially when family is involved.

An Older Christian Asked Me A Question I Didn't Like

I remember discussing a difficult relationship with an older believer who had considerably more patience than I did.

I explained what had happened. He listened without interrupting, which I appreciated because I had quite a bit to explain. When I finished, he asked whether I'd been praying for the person.

I said yes.

Then he asked, "What have you been praying for them?"

That question caught me off guard.

I'd asked God to help the situation, bring understanding, and deal with the problem. But when I thought about it, most of those prayers were really about resolving my frustration.

I hadn't spent much time asking God to bless the person in ways that had nothing to do with me.

I didn't particularly appreciate having that pointed out.

The conversation was helpful anyway.

Afterward, I began making a deliberate effort to pray for the person's actual well-being. Not every day, and I wasn't keeping a chart. But when the situation came to mind, I tried bringing something different before God.

Sometimes those prayers sounded like this:

"Father, help them grow closer to You."
"Give them wisdom in the decisions they're facing."
"Bless their family and help them with whatever they're struggling through."
"If there's something they need to recognize, please help them see it."
"Help me stop carrying resentment into conversations that have nothing to do with what happened."

That last request was obviously for me.

I needed it.

There were days when I didn't feel particularly generous while praying those things. I knew the words were consistent with what Jesus taught, but my emotions weren't enthusiastically cooperating.

I prayed anyway.

I don't think sincerity requires enjoying every act of obedience.

Something Changed In The Way I Thought About Them

There was one person I prayed for because I knew I needed to, not because I particularly wanted to.

For quite a while, nothing changed between us. We didn't suddenly become close, and there wasn't some wonderful conversation where everything finally made sense.

What gradually changed was the story I was telling myself about them.

I'd reduced the person to the thing they'd done.

Someone hurts you, and eventually that's who they become in your mind. You stop remembering that they have worries, responsibilities, regrets, insecurities, and parts of their life you know absolutely nothing about.

Prayer made that harder for me to ignore.

I didn't suddenly decide they were right.

They weren't.

I simply had a harder time making them into a villain.

Frankly, being angry was easier before that happened.

I Still Remember What Happened

There are things I haven't forgotten.

Certain words. Particular conversations. The disappointment of discovering that someone wasn't as trustworthy as I'd believed.

Prayer hasn't erased those memories, and I don't expect it to.

Some experiences change how we approach relationships afterward. That isn't necessarily unhealthy. Wisdom often develops because we've learned what happens when certain boundaries aren't respected.

But I don't want every future relationship to pay for what one person did.

I've caught myself becoming suspicious of somebody who hadn't done anything wrong simply because their behavior reminded me of an earlier experience. That's not fair to them, and it's something I still need to bring before God.

There are also people I find difficult even after praying for them.

Some continue making the same decisions. Others never acknowledge the harm they've caused. I've had to accept that certain relationships probably aren't going to become what I once hoped they would.

I can still ask God to bless those people.

I can pray for their spiritual growth without pretending they're already demonstrating it.

And I can acknowledge that I feel disappointed without spending another afternoon mentally explaining why.

I don't always manage those things particularly well.

I Prayed For That Person Again Recently

The name came to mind while I was doing something unrelated.

For a moment I remembered the old disagreement. I could still explain why I was upset, and I could probably give you the entire history if you had enough time and were unfortunate enough to ask.

Instead, I prayed for the person.

I asked God to help them and their family.

Then I went back to what I was doing.

I didn't feel an overwhelming sense of love, and there wasn't a dramatic moment of emotional release. I simply prayed.

Later that afternoon, I remembered another detail about what happened and felt a little irritated again.

Apparently there's still some work to do.

I haven't decided whether I need to address anything further with the person. At the moment, I don't think so. But I'm trying to be careful not to confuse avoiding an uncomfortable conversation with genuinely letting something go.

For now, I'm continuing to pray.

And I'm trying to make sure that when I bring this person's name before God, I'm actually praying for them rather than quietly asking the Lord to take my side.