Anyone who knows me, particularly those that I work with, can attest that I am a 'die on the hill' type of person. I am stubborn, and I do not back down. This trait does serve me well in a few certain situations, but most of the time, it's a trait I need to work on.
At work, it isn't uncommon for me to use this skillset on most of my patients, at some point or another, usually only once or twice, and gently, before they get the picture. I will win the war, even if the war doesn't matter, and it usually only takes a few times of waiting them out for 45 minutes to put a toy in the bin like I asked before they realize that I'm not messing around. If I say it, we're doing it. It provides me with a lot more productivity in the future, because the period of argument is a lot quicker.
There's definitely another word for this particular attribute in some scenarios, and it's pride.
From a secular point of view, pride can be a very positive thing, and it's something I worked toward for a long time. After my life was shaken up when I was 17, I had to work really hard to be able to see any positive attributes of myself - and that took years. It took me so, so long to have pride in literally anything I did because of the way my world was shaken. Nothing seemed trustworthy anymore, even myself.
But for the Jesus followers... we know this trait never does us well. And it always seems to rear it's head in a way that catches us at our most vulnerable.
This morning at church, the topic of our sermon was Forgiveness. I saw it on the outline of the notes before I even got to church, and anyone who's ever listened to a sermon on forgiveness knows that they tend to be mostly convicting messages, not light and airy and hopeful. Based on conversations I've had with friends, I would argue that this is a topic that most people, even those who do not know Jesus, struggle with. Every person on this planet has been wronged, and every person on this planet has caused hurt. It's a common issue to have hurt and resentment hanging out like a cloud over your head.
Even in my 3 year old class on Sunday mornings, forgiveness isn't that easy. If a child pushes another child down, forcing them to verbalize apology and forgiveness doesn't necessarily mean that's what is in their hearts. Someone is still bruised, physically or emotionally. The kids tend to not gravitate toward a peer that hurt them the previous week. I know as a child when I was told I had to apologize, I certainly didn't mean it. (There's that stubborn streak again, sorry Mom and Dad)
The more I think about it, the more the term 'forgiveness' seems to really undervalue what that word actually means. There's no possible way that eleven letters can eloquently or accurately describe the emotional disruption and change that precedes and succeeds forgiveness. And even in the more common situations, like a co-worker who speaks harsh words, a parent or sibling's disrespect, or a relationship that just never seems to eb and flow like it should (Does this person KNOW how much pain this relationship brings me?- but life circumstances are too complicated, for one reason or another, to just cut it out?) - I don't know about you, but forgiveness is NOT a one and done for me.
But what about those instances of hurt that are so unbelievably big, forgiveness isn't even on the multiple choice options? Many people in my life have experienced tragedy, abuse, and levels of hurt and pain that no human being ever deserves to go through. And yet the resentment and brokenness that the victim is left with can be more crippling than the crime itself. What would forgiveness even do? It doesn't undo the loss, pain, or hurt.
I remember seeing a mugshot on the news on the night of May 25, 2012, labeled as a 'hit and run' offender - the mugshot that would haunt my nightmares for years to come. I vividly remember being drenched in my own sweat, but somehow feeling cold; having a seemingly constant chill. Less than a year later I listened to the youtube recording of the final hearing for that court case, where my sweet friend Brenna's dad blessed his daughter's murderer with forgiveness. Read that sentence again and be sure you understand that. A man who lost his daughter to someone else's intentional, horrifying choices and actions - forgives him. That doesn't even seem... possible.
On one of the last Sundays Emma and I got to spend together before I left for clinicals, I took her to dance and then she asked to get coffee afterward. Obviously I said yes, so to the closest Starbucks we went. She was 6 or 7 at the time, but I carried her in, held her while I ordered, and reported to the barista at least three times that yes she can have a large frappuccino if she wants one, yes, it can be caffeinated, and yes, it can have extra whipped cream. She can have whatever she asks for. Please just make her coffee. After they made our drinks, I would feel a few stares in the store as I had to make two trips out since I still had her in my arms, one with each cup of coffee. I remember feeling like a cat bristling at the sight of a strange dog. I was ready to absolutely pounce on anyone who had the audacity to say anything about why my girl wasn't walking, or carrying her own drink, or why I was letting her have all that caffeine and sugar, or really anyone else wanted to say to me, for that matter. Thankfully, no one said anything, because that would not have been my best moment.
I remember feeling absolute outrage when I was in school and someone would comment on my sister's reading difficulties or vision difficulties. I told more than one child, bus driver, and teacher to go kick rocks if they wanted to speak to my little sister that way again. (Keaton and Dalton if you're reading this, thanks for always stepping in here)She's 25 now and holds her own just fine, but I still feel a sense of extreme protection, that 'win the war' mentality if I even think someone might be so much as disrespecting her.
These small, trivial (in the grand scheme, but maybe not in the moment) disrespects are hard for me to let go. I KNOW I am right. And I. Will. Stew. On. It. I will absolutely die on the hill to protect the hearts, feelings, and well-being of those I love.
But what do you do when the idea of 'forgiveness' is a large, translucent, cloud that you can never quite see or grasp because it's blocked by all the darker clouds of painful interactions, years of turmoil, a person on the other end of seems to have no awareness of what they've done wrong - or exactly HOW MANY things they've done wrong. What do you do when the physical distance, death of the person, or many years of ongoing 'yuck' has made it so that this literally will not be a one and done - or maybe even not a one million and done?
Pastor Barry put it the best this morning when he reminded us that forgiveness does not equal restoration. It does not mean everything is back to normal, or that the relationship in question is now perfect, or that you even have to trust that person again. For me, it just means that you've decided you're done carrying the burden. And there's only one person who can help with that: Jesus. *In order to hear more about this in a much, much better way than I ever could describe it, please see Here for the link to his sermon this morning. I hope I did that right.)
I've been very, very lucky in my life to have little to no ongoing, important relationships that cause me the kind of unrest that many of my friends have had. In fact, some of my closest friends have broken relationships with parents or siblings that I have watched them trudge faithfully through for years- and trudging faithfully, in this case, sometimes means doing nothing at all, because it's still painful even in a dormant state. And maybe that's who this writing is really for. I write these blogs because I do love to write, but I tend to feel a very specific call when it's time to write again, and each and every sentence of this has been transitioned to my hand from my brain without one single ounce of my own strength or talent - I only listen to the One who tells me what to write.
When it comes down to it, I realized (and re-realize daily, because I'm a broken human being) that forgiveness isn't a verb, or even something you give. It's not a favor, or extra time and space, or a tub of ice cream. At least for me, 'forgiveness' has to be a consistent walk with the Guy of Grace, day by day, hour by hour, and sometimes, even second by second. Because without him, all you end up with is a human being who cannot fulfill the hole in the world that has been left by really sinful people.
Since I watched the news on that hot, May night, and that mugshot burned itself into my brain, I have walked through many emotions, many desires, many feelings toward God, toward the man who committed the crime, toward or regarding Brenna, and toward myself. Through much, much counseling, it was brought to my attention that much of the anger I would have normally harbored toward the person who made the choice to murder, ended up just staying inside myself - I justified this to myself that anyone who can carry out the actions he did, clearly isn't in a right mind, or has too much other life pain for me to be angry at him (That sounds insane but it really is how my brain processed it). This also meant that on my days when I am feeling particularly sad about all of the life Bren missed out on, or struggling with the ramifications that trauma has left me with, that anger comes out as a snap at my parents or my sister, a fuse too short with a patient, or an unkind word to a co-worker. My "win the war" mentality rears it's head once again, because I lack the control that I want over my own life.
But now that I've been walking with the Guy of Grace for several years, I realize that's just a product of a broken, broken world. Only God knows, sees, and carries out justice, so that's a burden I don't need to bear. In the same way that God will and does give justice, He also truly cares for each and every single person - the worry for this person who committed the crimes that changed my life that I used to carry is no longer a weight on my shoulders that feels unbearable. God is able to take on justice, love, and every single emotion and idea in between.
Dear friend, I have no idea why you're reading this blog or the place you stand with a difficult relationship in your life. Moreover, I don't know where you stand with Jesus. Maybe He's your best friend, maybe it's a name you've heard distantly but don't really know, or maybe, recently or long ago, someone, something, or some experience left a taste in your mouth about religion so negative that you hate even those five letters in that order. What I do know about you, though, is you carry hurt. I don't know what it's from, how long it's been sitting, or the details of the wrongdoings. I know that hurt can be so detailed, so minute, but so vast and deep, that it seems impossible to heal. But dear friend, I must tell you, nothing is too big, too small, too complicated, for my Jesus.
My favorite, favorite band ever is MercyMe. I don't get super excited about too many things, but I love them, y'all. Their song Greater has some of my favorite lyrics...
Bring your tiredAnd bring your shameBring your guiltAnd bring your pain
Bring your doubtsAnd bring your fearsBring your hurtAnd bring your tears
And then, in the chorus...
You are holy, righteous and redeemed.
I try to illustrate in my head what that combination of words looks like or feels like, and I just can't. I don't know how Jesus can manage to take my tired, my shame, my guilt, my pain, my doubts, my fears, my hurt, and my tears... and turn them to peace.
I just know that He can.
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