Forgiving

I have a lot of forgiving to do. This is not because I have been hurt or sinned against more than usual, but because I have forgotten to forgive; I've forgotten that it needs to be an ongoing exercise for me. Emotional hygiene.

Forgiving. I know a lot about it. I can say wise things about it. I'm glad I have already learned that forgiving is for me, not for the other person. It frees me. It doesn't take the place of justice. It doesn't require an apology.

I need to get up off my a** and do it.

I know that God forgave me, and that shames me a little bit. Knowing that I am forgiven for all kinds of nightmarish things that I have said and done and thought should remind me how level the playing field is. But it doesn't. This is my selfishness and all that is so un-lovely about me.

But I'm noticing, now, that maybe I'm just stuck in a loop of blame and anger and fear and grief. The sin done to me is ongoing, and I'm experiencing it in the present tense, and so I continue to take up my sword and hope that I can ... what? Make it stop? Get revenge? Fight, and win, somehow? I don't think so.

Even if I looked to the east, and Gandalf the White came riding in and rescued me from the situation that grieves me today, I'd still be hurt, and I'd still miss the bite that was taken out of my heart. I'd still want revenge, or justice. I'd want something. That something is completion. To be made whole.

In stories, so often, the sides balance. The score is settled. The bad guy is vanquished, the good guy is vindicated, usually publicly, and ends up on the plus side again because he has gotten the girl, or the loot, or a bad-ass reputation.

My wholeness isn't like that. Or... it isn't going to be, when I get it. I sure don't have it today. But I want it.

I think I know how to start.

1. Timing. It's over. My situation might continue, but something else has ended. Maybe it's about walking away, and saying "You can't hurt me any more." It feels like surrender to me, because saying "it's over" means I no longer think I can fix anything. If it is a relationship I might stop caring. If it's a job, I might stop working. If it's a fight, I put down my weapons, knowing the other person might keep on pounding me for a while. I have noticed that that pounding can continue because it doesn't hurt anymore. The damage is done. How many times can someone say "you don't belong" "we are many and you are alone" "you're not good / talented / lovable"? I get it. You've said it, I believed it for a while, it's hurt all it's going to. It's over.

2. The Score. What did I lose? One of my earlier life lessons about forgiveness was when I realized that someone who had hurt me had not benefited. The worse a sin against me is, the more it either hurts the perpetrator, or comes out of his or her existing hurt. When I was in college I fell in love with chemistry because the equations always balanced. I think they do here as well. Did I really lose? Even if I lost time, or money, or peace of mind, or friends, I gained wisdom. I gained understanding of who my friends are. I experienced the healing hand of God. I learned what I can live without, and I noticed that what was taken from me turned to ashes in the hands of those who took it.

3. Justice. Justice takes time. The husband who allows himself to be stolen ends up being not such a catch after all, but it might be years before the woman he left understands she is better off. The schemers who try to destroy my reputation will undermine their own, in time. I hunger for quick justice and I long to be the one to administer it, but I have already tried and failed. God's justice is always better; it always satisfies and it always sanctifies. It just takes a while, and I have to get out of its way.

4. Perspective. Around my house we love the line from Star Wars when Princess Leia says to Han Solo "If money is all that you love, then what is what you will receive," and it's pretty clear that money is not what they are fighting for. That scene helps me clarify. What kind of treasure is my opponent trying to grab, and why should I agree on its value? Princess Leia helps me shrug and say "If an amoral woman half your age is all that you love, then that is what you will receive." "If empty admiration is all that you love, then that is what you will receive." It's the "Gift of the Magi," or the folk tale about the three wishes that went so wrong - the value of a thing depends on its context.

5. Compassion. Apparently when I turn off the faucet of compassion for my opponent, that means I don't get any for myself. I haven't figured out how to hate someone else without some of that dark stain getting on me. We are in this together, my enemy and I. And that's appropriate, don't you think? If he is so bad, how did I let him get to me? If I am so hurt, did I invite it somehow? I'm trying to turn that rusty old faucet back on, and it seems to work best when I point it his way first. He really can't help it, I think. My dear lost friend T. always said "It takes so much more energy to be harsh than it does to be cool" and he's got to be right. Nobody wakes up in the morning and says "Well, I could be humble and God-honoring today, but instead I think I'll be selfish and cruel." Obviously we DO have choices in the moment, and obviously we all (me more than you) make the mean / ugly / stupid choice - but it's because we don't know about the better choices. We forget them. We never tried them before. We were too scared to stop and think. It boils down to a "can't" instead of a "won't."

So. It's over; you didn't really take anything from me. I can't make it right but God can. I'm probably better off, and I'm pretty sure you couldn't help it anyway.

I'm noticing that I can switch "you" for "me" in these statements and it works just as well when I'm the one who needs forgiving, as I do, and have, and will. I want to say "I forgive you" but it's got to be ongoing, not past or future tense. Always forgiving.

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