Whom Do I Serve?

Today as I struggle with a wound from a friend who unjustly accused my husband and rejected our family because of it, I've been praying. I want to reject back. I want to defend my husband. I don't want to give to her. I want to take back. Im angry. Through it all, I know I am wrong. Right now, I am wrong. As I was feeling this, a few minutes ago God reminded me of an experience I watched my Dad deal with.
My Dad was driving me home one night in his small pick up. We lived about 8 miles out of town up a large, curvy hill. About a 20 minute drive from town. We drove by the gas station along the highway and saw a couple in sitting in the rain and dark. They had two dogs and looked very obviously homeless. My Dad drove me home and prayed about the couple. He felt like he needed to pick them up. He dropped me off at home and went back to town. He said if they were still there he was going to pick them up and bring them home. They were and he did. They stayed with us some number of days. A nice enough couple, but both showed signs of paranoia and possible mental illnesses. They spent evenings telling us about their lives and places they'd been. We fed them, provided shelter and spent several rough sleepless nights listening to irrational and paranoid fights and dogs barking.
One Sunday my dad and I went to church. My mom stayed home sick. The man drove in with us, if I remember right, and stayed in town at a restaraunt drinking coffee. That's how I remember it anyway. When we picked him back up after church he attacked my dad. He accused him of gossiping and lying about him at church. I don't remember all the accusations, just that he was leaving because of it. My dad didn't defend himself. He didn't attack back. He didn't even get angry. We got back to the house and instead of kicking them out, offered to take them anywhere they wanted to go within a 5 hour drive. It was at least noon when this started. The man named his desired destination, a four hour drive, and they loaded up and left sometime in the late afternoon. My dad drove his biggest gas hog, our truck, so he could carry the couple and their dogs. He dropped them off and got back home very late. Slept, then went to work the next morning. Never did I see him defend himself or get angry. He sacrificed that day for people who'd made him an enemy. He never heard from them again.
I realized today that that was the best representation I've witnessed of Christ's sacrifice for us. When "religion" is represented by murder, violence, judgement, rejection, hate...you remember that it's not Jesus. It's not Christianity. It's not representing God. The Jesus I believe and serve, the Bible I read and follow and live my life to represent is the same God and man my Dad represented that Sunday. He calls us to be used, rejected, judged, hated and some even murdered in His name and in the name of true love. Anything else is not Christianity. We wont always experience those things, but when we do how we deal with it will show who we serve.
So God gave me my answer today. I will open my heart and home to this friend again. And again. And hopefully in the end she will feel the love that I have for her. That God has for her. That kind of love, I pray, will melt all her pain and attacks and lead her to the only God worth serving. The love that has melted away my humaness (not that I live perfectly and don't still react wrongly) and has allowed me to spread it. It's the Love I serve. My God is love.