 |
| The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. #Gandhi |
Gandhi feels differently. An
attribute of the strong, is their ability to forgive. So while I might look like a duck and waddle like one, I’m not quacking up to Gandhi’s standards.
I would have even told you that I
know forgiveness. That I have the ability and capacity to forgive. And that I
do forgive. Liberally. Then I went to church. Online. To Central Christian
Church for the third installment of “Breaking Bad.”
The message was amazing.
Honestly, there are more lessons in it than I could keep track of. I am sure
that I will watch it again, and it will speak differently to me, and meet me in
the new season of my life. But in this one, I am warring with forgiveness. I
know that I need to forgive. I understand, as Smedes did, that on the other side of my
forgiving (and fear) I will do nothing more (or less) than free myself.
And that is why it is so difficult.
It is the most precious, the most important, the most expensive gift you can
give yourself. I have always had a problem with giving, to myself. It’s easier
to just be still. That’s option #2. The first is revenge. And many of us live
life believing that we have to choose one or the other. We wrestle back and
forth between the two, right? We seek revenge, and it satisfies nothing. We
retreat the
silence of our mind and it leaves us vulnerable for it to happen again. Oscillating between retaliation and reservation.
But those among us. Those who know. Those
who understand forgiveness, get it. Like my cousin KMG. For her, it’s closure…something
else I avoid. They get free, because they forgive, and with that, they
break their chains. They choose option #3.
Forgiveness is recognition and
release. I recognize my hurt through tears, journals, lonely nights, colorless
clothing… Describing my pain to my best friend with unintelligible words from
my brokenness. He listens to them, translates them and mends them together with
his compassion for me. And I release it. At least I think I do. I don’t wish anyone
harm, though I’m not interceding on their behalf in my prayers. Should we end
up in the same place at the same time, I do my best to keep my distance, and
not look as if I am purposely avoiding proximity. I won’t cause a scene – to the
point that I will just leave.
In the example the Minister used in
his message, he stated that he was called by God to reach out to a man that
wronged him – severely. He fought that feeling. That urging. That compassionately
violent tug by the Father to do this thing. That same feeling I felt this one
day, all throughout the Church service, and after, and in the car, and on my
way to the Mall. I picked up the phone and I called him. Not just any him. …him… And he didn’t answer.
I left the oddest message an
ex-whatever-you-were could have left on the voicemail, because well, it’s not
like we talk anymore. Because it was a divine urging, he was moved to return
the missed call. Whatever his reasons were, mostly shock I’d presume, he did
it. And we spoke, awkwardly. Well, I was awkward. He was just his
post-whatever-we-were self. It was so hard to speak in my calm, authentic, I’m out
shopping voice because literally every axon, dendrite and electrolyte in
my body was at Defcon 1. The whole time I was thinking, What in the
HELL are you doing?!
We ended the conversation as some
version of friends. As we share a pretty awesome group of friends, our ending
still makes us friends by mathematical transitive properties…that and facebook
message groups #BaconAndPrayerRequests. He said that it was good talking,
and that I should keep in touch. I stuttered, paused, and awkwardly silence’dly
suggested he do the same. All whilst tearing up at the Old Navy register. I
told the clerk that amazing deals sometimes bring tears to my eyes, paid $0.10
for my shopping bag and rushed out.
I had all these grand, crazy
thoughts about what would happen next. That he would know what that moment was
for me, and that he would call. Or text. Or reach out. Or do something in the
way of reconciliation. Of working through the wreckage we left a long distance
ago. I told myself once that life would be on the other side of accepting the
apologies I am never going to get. That word spoke to me. And honestly, in the
other areas of my life it makes a lot of sense. Professionally, it’s part of my
core principles. I’ve had to sit across the conference room table from
colleagues who preach diversity in one breath, but in the next are so
astonished that I am so articulate and not connect how that might
impact me as a professional of color. And the meeting continues…
We have seen each other a few times
since that phone call, because well, friends have birthdays and people like to
celebrate stuff on ice skates. And I am just as awkward in real life as I am
via #notsmartphone. Every conversation is cordial. Each exchange of words is free of
hate. The salutations returned in kind.
I thought that meant…him…was
forgiven. That I forgave whatever it was that happened to me. I spent so much
of the end apologizing for whatever it was I did to him, I didn’t consider for
a moment what it was doing to me. Until I was left and alone and that was the
only thing left on the to-do list.
Option #3 is forgiveness through
another method. It’s taking the mirror that has been watching me brush my teeth
and wipe my tears and turning it around. So that…him…can see what became of me
when I was asked to walk that mile with all that baggage[i]. So that he could see what it was for me to walk that second one.
I never do that. Not with …him… or
that other whatever-it-was. They never see me carry that pack through mile 2.
They have not seen what I have become. What I turned into. How I eventually
came back changed. How I believed a little less in the things I used to say to
them. How my smile is a little harder to produce. What they do see is my
fawning over little kids on ice skates. Happy to be reunited with friends I
haven’t seen in a while. Deeply embroiled in a game of trivia. And accompanied to
cookout with new friends. Red solo cup and all. I stare down the inside of that
cup and drink the Ender’s Game like devastation. With just one coordinated attack,
my civilization ceases to exist. He actually thought it was okay to touch me.
After the end. After the silent assault leading to the finality of it all, he actually
thought it was okay to put his hands on me. He thinks it’s okay to touch me. He
thinks that because he hasn’t looked in the mirror; the view from the front row
still looks the same.
 |
| Not an easy thing to do... |
Option #3 means showing the person
who broke you all the brokenness. This isn’t a war tactic either. It is the
first step in making peace. Revealing all your cards. Forfeiting the game. Realizing
the game isn’t all that fun in the first place. Carrying the burden of
forgiveness, like God did for us, was not about God shielding us from the hurt,
but revealing it plainly through the greatest sacrifice.
We were undeserving of such an act
then, these whatever-they-were’s are undeserving now. It’s not about giving
them something they may or may not deserve, it’s about doing something for
yourself that you deserve – liberation.
Here’s the thing…you bear a burden
either option you choose. Retaliation will ruin you. Someone will run out of
eyes. And I have never been one for emotional warfare. Reservation will drive
you to madness. Just trust me on that one, I’ve done the research. But if you
reverse the view of the mirror, you might really be able to forgive.
You might get Gandhi-strong.
Pass me a mirror. But careful. Once you see this, there is no going back. You will always know.
Always, Always,
Always, Always,
[i] 39But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil:
but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. 40And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat,
let him have thy cloak also. 41 And whosoever shall
compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. 42Give to him that asketh thee, and from him
that would borrow of thee turn not thou away. 43Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou
shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. 44But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless
them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which
despitefully use you, and persecute you; 45That ye may be the children of your Father
which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good,
and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust. 46For if ye love them which love you, what
reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same? 47And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than
others? do not even the publicans so? 48Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven
is perfect.
No comments:
Post a Comment