Two-Way Street

Image Courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/walkingsf/

I used to think that I was a pretty tolerant person.

I hung out with homeless people, went to an urban church, traveled the world, had a smattering of friends from different cultures, and lived in a pretty tolerant-crazed town. I had a college degree, a few manuscripts under my belt, and hung out with artsy people who were bent on loving people and changing the world. Tolerant? Yeah. I had that covered.

Then I moved to the Hill Country of Texas. 

And I found out just how intolerant I was.

I discovered that in my 24 years of living in Portland, I really hadn’t learned to tolerate. I had learned to pick and choose friends, skimming the surfaces of relationships, skittishly running away when they did things I didn’t like. I never thought of it that way though. I just thought that I had a wide bouquet of friends from all walks of life. I didn’t have conflicts with my friends because I hardly let my hair down around them. Never let them see the real me. The me that I was afraid to let out because I feared rejection. I had emotional ghettos.

Living in the country was a new challenge. I hated the fact that I saw the same people every day. Work. Play. Life. It all smooshed together in a blend that I really struggled with. Where were the neat little boxes? 

Living in Portland, I never had to see the same person twice in one week or month really, if I so desired. In Texas, there were people I saw fourteen days out of two weeks. That’s kind of a lot. A lot, a lot.

People started getting on my nerves. Every single one of them. Proximity sparked fires. Personality clashes, conflict.

I would rant about those crazy super conservative people who judged people who didn’t share their narrow point of view. And I kept thinking, What the heck is wrong with these people? Why can’t they just be more tolerant?! 

Ironic, isn’t it?

Then I picked up a book about a writer who moved to the Hill Country. She was a Democrat who moved deep into Bush Country, someone who had traveled the world in search of wonder and surprised herself when she ended up in the middle of nowhere. In her book, she made the point that true tolerance  isn’t about picking and choosing or living in ghettos of our own making. It’s choosing to forge friendships even when you have nothing in common.

Ouch.

As a Christian, shouldn’t that be something I worked on? It does no good for me to judge the judgers because then I join their camp. Or become narrow-minded in my own way.

If I really want to make a difference, I have to learn how to do more than simply tolerate. I have to love.