Writing about Forgiveness and actually
doing are two different beasts. Seems I've been quite content to let
bitterness consume me from within. Surrounded by suggestion... a
sermon about offering forgiveness before too late. Then, darling
husband asks almost daily if I've called my Dad. I read a fabulous book on what it's like to live in another person's shoes which makes
me consider how little I know about his life, his fears. Then, this
morning's devotional reads 'instead, you ought to forgive and
comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow' (2 Corinthians 2: 7). Oftentimes slow on the uptake, but lately
it's felt like a battering ram!
Couldn't I just write a letter?
Written words flow more smoothly. Can't it wait til a personal
visit? No, Lisa...call today. Call right now. That heavy
soul-knocking urge to call weakens my resolve and I reach for the
phone. Not in my favorites list, I have to search for his name.
What will I say? I know I can't get thru much without breaking down.
Ring Ring...maybe he's still asleep...he's known to sleep til noon.
Instead, I get a sleepy hello. Uggg. Ok, I'm being obedient...Good
morning.
Those first awkward steps of
conversation aren't pretty....clumsily trudging thru...I know the
meaty parts are coming... bursting to spill. That deafening silence
and then I hear myself say the words I've withheld for years.
Can you forgive me? I've been angry at you for how things
went down with Mom.
Can you forgive me? I was angry because I would have done
things so differently. I was completely unaware of your
perspective....what it was like living in your shoes.
I don't know how he'll process my
call...choppy with tears and gulps for air. Not sure if he feels
confusion or clarity. Feeling the same way, myself. There's so much
more to purge. Baby steps.
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