I have three beautiful and amazing girls. They like to giggle together. They like to snuggle with each other. They like to play Little People together. And they love to fight. Around my house, there is a lot of playing noise that quickly turns into yelling and screaming noise. And then crying. And then (usually when they've been reminded), there is a quiet and sad noise:
"I'm sorry."
Immediately following, and always unprompted, there is an equally quiet and sad noise:
"I forgive you."
The volume and the emotion behind it generally suggests that while not all is forgotten, and the pain still exists, the offense is forgiven. It won't come between them anymore. And, within minutes, they are giggling together.
I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately.
I work at a children's advocacy center. We provide services for children who have been sexually abused. National statistics tell us that 90% of the children who are sexually abused are victimized by people they know, love, and trust. In the county where I live, it is closer to 99%. We're talking fathers, stepfathers, mothers, cousins, Dad's best friend, step siblings, babysitters. The other day, the mom of one of our clients was speaking with a group of people. She said, "My daughter is an inspiration to me. She teaches us all so much. And I know the biggest reason for her freedom and joy is something that she is teaching me: she forgave the man who did this to her."
She forgave the man who did this to her. She forgave the dear family friend who sexually abused her when he thought she was sleeping.
At the same time, there is a couple I know who are in the process of getting divorced. The reason? She had an affair.
I understand that having someone cheat on you is a horrible thing. The betrayal, the disappointment, the fear, the rejection. It is, according to many people I know, unforgivable.
And, in the case of this couple, it destroyed their marriage. Or did it? You see, she had her affair--and ended it--at least fifteen years ago. She came clean to her husband, they recommitted themselves each to their marriage and each other, and they moved past it. Or so she thought.
What really ended their marriage? Not forgiving. When he asked her to leave, he told her it was because he had never forgiven her for what she did fifteen years ago. Talk about betrayal, disappointment, fear, and rejection. Can you imagine believing that the man you love has extended grace and forgiveness--which you, self admittedly, did not deserve--only to find out that he has held on for fifteen years? That slowly, his deception has been eating away at the vows you took before God and your family and friends?
That's what not forgiving does. In
Traveling Mercies Anne Lamott wrote, "Not forgiving is like eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die." Amen. And then amen again.
Not forgiving destroys marriages. It robs joy. It erases freedom. It brings a slow and painful death.
Forgiving brings life. It causes joy and delivers freedom. It's hard. And it may be quiet and sad, because it's not easy, and the pain is still there. But, it says that nothing will come between us.
Spend a few hours at our house, and you will learn many lessons. You will learn how a small person with mere inches of water in the bathtub can make every square inch of the bathroom wet. You will learn that ketchup, cheese, mayo, pickles, and two slices of bread make a terrific lunch. You will learn how to giggle, transform plastic tubs into cars, and use Mom's cell phone to watch
Curious George. You will also learn how to apologize. And, most importantly, you will learn how to forgive.
