then I had seen a certain kind of blaming anger become a prison in itself (more about that later). But I have also seen that when that hatred of oppression rises up, the possibility of constructive action can also come. Thomas Wolfe, the novelist from North Carolina, died at an early age. One of the last manuscripts he was working on before he died was a story about a boy who greatly admired his father (published in The Hills Beyond). His father was a kind and gentle man and served as a judge in the legal system in his small town. The boy watched his father’s face redden and the veins of his forehead swell as he walked by a Civil War veteran who sat on the court stairs every day. The veteran had lost a leg in the Civil War, and thrived on the attention he got from other people hanging out on the stairs. He looked at people with imploring eyes to get people to help him stand with great drama. The judge was not impressed. The boy reminded his dad that the man had a wooden leg, after all. The father replied that a wooden leg is no excuse for anything. The boy didn’t understand his father’s harshness. One day the boy was reading a book on the battles of the Civil War. To his astonishment, he saw his own father’s name in the account. The account had listed his father’s name and said he had fought bravely and had to have his leg amputated after the battle. The boy stumbled into the other room and asked his mom if the person mentioned in the account was his dad. The mother said yes, but the father had never told the son about it, because his father didn’t want his son to think of him as a cripple. The boy realized that the father had used an artificial leg and never talked about it, never used it as a means to get sympathy. I am a feeler. I want everyone to feel good all the time. I want to please everyone. But I have learned, in the leading of the Spirit, that sometimes the way to freedom for some people is a necessary firmness that may seem harsh. This kind Learn to Hate — The Prison of Being Unaware / / /
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