I recently met with someone and—what can I say?—I I just didn’t like him very much. Oh, it wasn’t his bad breath (I didn’t get close enough to find out) and he wasn’t terribly obnoxious.
I just didn’t like him very much. And I felt bad about it.
And, no, he isn’t a reader of this blog. So if you’re a reader, it’s safe to meet with me. (Unless, perhaps, you just don’t like me very much.)
“Well, I love her, but I don’t like her very much.”
I thought, “I know exactly what she means. I love this guy; it’s not my fault I don’t like him very much.” I felt much better about myself and thought,
“Yes, that’s me. I’m a loving kind of guy. I obey Christ’s command to love my neighbor even though he’s a bit boring. I like me!”
And then, as these thoughts raced through my mind, I began to dislike myself. As you read my thoughts (above,) perhaps you began to think of me, “What a jerk!”.
Now I’m thinking, “I love me, but I don’t like me very much.”