The Most Important Lesson We Can Learn

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.

Indulge Me for a Minute

I'm going to lose a few of my readers with this post.  That's tricky with only 10 people reading, but this blog is about who I am and what I think.  So, indulge me for just a minute.  And I hope you'll be back next time.  It's not as if I have anything controversial to say--at least not today (I'm not THAT brave, after all)--but it might be just a bit boring.  Bet you can't wait to keep reading, eh? 

So here's the thing about me.  I love sports.  Love them.  I don't know what it is, because I don't recall being a big sports fan when I was growing up.  I never really played them.  Oh!  Except Little League.  I played t-ball, and maybe another year, on the Langeland's Funeral Home team in Kalamazoo.  They had me in right field.  For t-ball.  I may have been afraid of the ball.  Anyway I picked a lot of clovers but never found any of the four-leaf variety.  Checked every one of the Kalamazoo Little League fields for one, though.

Back to the sports.  I know my dad watched them as I was growing up.  He watched baseball and college football.  He also watched the NFL.  It may have been that he actually watched teams, though.  Like U of M and the Detroit Lions and the Detroit Tigers.  And the Olympics.  We always watched that, too.  I remember being in a hotel room somewhere between here and Vancouver, BC, and watching gymnastics floor routines.  Or, rather I remember pretending I was in the gymnastics floor routines by tumbling across the beds in the hotel room.  I may have gotten in trouble for that.  I also remember being in the winter Olympics and figure skating around my living room while my parents and the rest of their Bible study watched through the windows from the church next door.  And of course I remember the '84 World Series and the '88 Series.  It may have been Kirk Gibson I remember from that last one, though.

In high school I discovered soccer.  I watched it in the heat and in the floods and everywhere in between.  I'm not sure I missed many games during my junior and senior years of high school.  Along the way I also discovered the Green Bay Packers and the Detroit Tigers (for myself now) and Notre Dame Fighting Irish football.  The Sports Illustrated subscription has always been in my name, and my husband has to tell me to turn off ESPN.

A couple of years ago I decided to prove to the boys that I know more about football than what Brett Favre's smile is like (though it feels creepy to say that now), and I devoured The Idiot's Guide to the NFL.  And I discovered that I loved two more things about sports: learning the terminology and impressing the boys.

More recently, I discovered Josh Hamilton.  His story is so compelling, and let's be honest--it's a treat to watch him play baseball.  I also came across CJ Wilson in an issue of Sports Illustrated.  I was intrigued by their partnership in staying drug and alcohol free (Hamilton because of his addictions, and Wilson because he is straightedge), and I found it interesting that Wilson went from AAA ball to a relief role for the Rangers to being the Rangers ace in just a few short years. 

And then Albert Pujols!  Don't get me started on how interesting that story line has been this year!

Turns out I'm a pretty big baseball fan.  My interest has gone beyond just cheering for the Detroit Tigers and into watching certain players, observing how they impact their teams, and noting how the fans respond to them.  I'm excited to be watching Bryce Harper and Mike Trout transform and ignite their teams, and I can hardly wait to watch their careers continue to develop as they become even bigger superstars than they already are.  And the stats.  Wow.  There's so much to track.

I know that my minute is almost up, and the two of you who are still reading are about to close your browsers (except Matt Gajtka, who better be sticking around--I blame him for enabling me), but I do have a conclusion. 

Matt and I had a conversation the other day about learning.  I realized that part of what I love about sports is that there's always something more to learn.  My dad helped me see the importance of learning something every day (I don't know if he'd claim that, but it's something that I feel like I learned from him).  With sports I get to do that.

Then, I was talking with some people at a work lunch, and we discussed the psychology of sports.  I find it fascinating the way people are such "homers" and the way that fans can turn on a player and the way that Twitter has changed our access to athletes.  I love the brain and group think and people's motives and fandom in general.

I do like impressing the boys by talking sports, and I like sharing my opinions with more than just my dashboard while I listen to Mike & Mike or Colin Cowherd, and I surely like doing more than just filing the stats in my brain.  Don't worry, I wont hijack Better Than a Hallelujah with sports.  Because then I really will have the Gajtkas as my only readers.  It's just hard to figure out how to reconcile all of these parts of me while still maintaining the theme of what I've got going here.  I may have turned 35, and I may have figured out what I want to be when I grow up, but I'm still trying to figure how exactly who I am and how I should let it out.

A Love Story

Once upon a time a boy and a girl grew up, in separate towns, with different families.  After he graduated from high school, the boy made his way to the middle of the mitten to begin the rest of his life.  Two years later, the girl also left her home and her family to settle into a new town, make new friends, and (eventually) marry her high school sweetheart.

Because life doesn't always work they way it's planned, the girl's relationship ended.  Three months later, the boy accepted God as his Savior and began attending a Christian fellowship group.  There, the boy and the girl met.  One day, the boy and the girl were assigned to call each other with a reminder about their volunteer work for the group.  The boy made the girl laugh.  But that wasn't love.

The boy and the girl became fast friends, and they discovered that God wanted them to get married.  So, fourteen years ago today, they did just that.  They danced to "Shameless," and they were in love.  But that wasn't love.

Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death should separate you and me.  Ruth 1:16-17

Even though they had a beautiful wedding and made wonderful vows to each other, and even though their friends all wished them happily ever after, things went differently.  Three years after they married, the boy and the girl realized that they didn't want to be married to each other anymore.  They decided to separate.  While they were apart, they discovered that God truly had other plans for them and their marriage.  So they fought.  Instead of fighting with each other, they fought next to each other, for each other.  And that was love.

I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten.  Joel 2:25

Over the years, they have settled into a deep friendship and into their lives together.  There are now three beautiful girls and one child in heaven.  A household of two has become a household of five.  They haven't always been happy, but they have always been committed . . . to each other, to God, to their family.  And that was love.

It's hard to know--or even imagine--what life could hold next for the boy and the girl.  They have their plans and their dreams, but they don't know.  Today they are in love, and they are best friends.  God has helped them go and stay together.  One day death will separate them.  But until then, God truly has repaid them for the years of their marriage that the locust stole, and He has given them love.

And we're dancing in the minefields
We're sailing in the storm
This is harder than we dreamed
But I believe that's what the promise is for

So when I lose my way, find me
When I loose love's chains, bind me
At the end of all my faith, till the end of all my days
When I forget my name, remind me

'Cause we bear the light of the Son of Man
So there's nothing left to fear
So I'll walk with you in the shadowlands
Till the shadows disappear

'Cause he promised not to leave us
And his promises are true
So in the face of all this chaos, baby,
I can dance with you

"Dancing In the Minefields," Andrew Peterson

Beau, I love you.  I'd happily be the girl who went to Central and met you and married you and fought with you and fought for you and fought next to you and birthed our beautiful children and worked with you to raise them and spent fourteen years (so far) dancing through the minefields with you.  Because He promised not to leave us, and His promises are true.  So I'll walk with you in the shadowlands 'till the shadows disappear.  530

I'm Calling It A Success

I know what Memorial Day is about.  I know that it is recognizing the sacrifice that so many men and women--mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, children, brothers, sisters--have made for the freedom that we enjoy.  Freedom doesn't come free, just as nothing worth having (besides grace and eternal life) does.  Today I'm celebrating Memorial Day with my favorite veteren and wearing the shirt I wore when my family and I went to pick him up in Taylor, MI, four years ago after his year in Iraq.  It says, "Some heroes wear capes.  Mine wears combat boots."  And he does.

But I also know what the first weekend of summer is about.  Though we all go back home, and the kids (or at least the oldest one) has two more weeks of school, summer is official with Memorial Day weekend. 

* I spent three nights staying up too late with my mom and dad on the porch at Sandy Pines.
* We all woke up too early every morning when little voices started talking as the sun came up.
* Ellie learned to swim--even underwater!--without any flotation device.  And she has a red bracelet that says she can ride the water slide all by herself to prove it.
* I have four new mosquito bites.
* Addie decided to pee in the potty and has spent four days dry, except for one accident at the picnic table (much to Megan's disgust, since she was next to her on the bench).
* We have eaten grilled food for three days and will again today.
* We enjoyed ice cream instead of dinner one time and will again today.
* The deck is covered with towels, swimsuits, beach toys, and people relaxing in chairs.
* I received ramekins, both seasons of Downton Abbey, a beautiful new sweater, and lavendar sachets from my birthday celebration.
* I read the second half of a book in three days instead of the five weeks it took me to read the first half.
* We watched the Tigers win three games (in a row!) and the Angels do the same.

I'm calling this one a success.

Let me never, never outlive my love for Thee

Years and years ago, I came across a book written by Steven Curtis Chapman and his pastor, Scotty Smith.  It is called Speechless, and I highly recommend it.  Knowing my appreciation for Scotty's writing, my writer/editor friend gave me a copy of his new book Everyday Prayers.  I've been using it along with the KINGDOM Reading Plan to guide my daily devotional time. 

Today I was struck by something that Scotty wrote.  I was struck by it because of all that is packed into the simple paragraph, as well as everything that is left out.  There is no condemnation, there is no guilt.  It's very matter of fact.  At the same time, it recognizes the free gift of salvation and that nothing more is required of us for our eternity to be secured.  And yet, when nothing more is given, something is definitely missing. 

One of my favorite hymns is "My Jesus, I Love Thee," by William R. Featherston:

I'll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
"If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus 'tis now"

As Scotty wrote:

May I never stop singing the last line in the hymn "O Sacred Head Now Wounded": "Should I fainting be, Lord, let me never, never outlive my love for thee."  That's my earnest, impassioned prayer, Jesus.  I don't fear losing my salvation.  I will stand firm to the end because of my standing in grace.  But what could be worse than for my love for you to cool down, degree by degree, as I get older?  Don't let that happen to me, Jesus.  Don't let that happen.  What could be worse than to finish the race with an ingrown, icy heart?  (January 9)

I want my love for Jesus to radiate out of me. I want it to be something that cannot be contained on my face and cannot be stopped by anything I endure. I want to lie on my deathbed and say, "Wow. I thought I loved you before. But if I've ever loved you, I know it's now."

Simple Pleasures

So the biggest event of 2009 is now complete for me, but that doesn't mean there is nothing left for me to anticipate. It's interesting, because I love anticipation. For me, the planning and dreaming about and waiting for is almost as good (often better!) as the actual event I've been longing for. Having a baby is never like that. I know that heaven will also be better than any of the dreams I have for it. But most other things . . . movies, vacations, meals . . . they all go so fast and often fail to live up to what I've anticipated.

Even so, here are a few of the favorite things I have left to dream about this year:

* Jumbo navel oranges
* Family pictures
* Going back to church
* Opening Wii EA Active on Christmas Day
* Being done nursing
* Sleeping through the night (closely related to the one above)
* Reading a book for pleasure
* Dinner at Mangiamo! and Green Well (thank you, Kampers!)
* New Moon
* Getting my hair cut
* Ending November with 29 blog entries (some even worth reading!)
* Making hair things with Julie, Abbie, and Ellie
* Designing Addie's birth announcements
* Eating prime rib at Logan's
* Writing the 2009 Christmas Letter
* Getting rid of all my maternity clothes (okay, this may spill into 2010, but it will happen)

And there is so much more that I hope for 2010. They're simple pleasures, but they're mine. And I love to dream about them.