My friends are my friends because we like each other. We are kind to each other. We celebrate one another. Friendships take time, energy, and patience, but, in the end, the relationship is based on agreed mutuality.

I am a good friend, but I have one friend who is a great friend. She remembers birthdays and sends a card and gift at least one week before. She remembers what is going on with my children and asks how they are doing. She sends me links to articles she thinks I would find interesting, and she has been known to send me a gift because she noticed on my social media that I was having a rough go of it.

I am probably a better enemy than a friend. I am excellent at carrying a grudge for slights that happened months if not years ago. People who mistreated my children when they were young are still on my list. I don’t seek revenge, but I’ve mastered cold politeness. We call it “Midwest nice.”

But I am also a Christian, and this is when Jesus pushes me to the edge. Honestly, I read this passage and I want to scream. I want Jesus to know why my enemies are my enemies. How can Jesus want me to love the very people who have been the cause of pain for my family and friends?

“What about the racists, Jesus? Do I love them?”

“Yes.”

“What about the people telling me to go back to where I came from? Do I love them?”

“Yes, love them.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”