freedom

When I awoke from my nap, the dog was gone. I felt a little sad, but because he had pursued me so relentlessly and purposefully, I was ready and eager to move on. I opened my book to a new chapter about Forgiveness. In the first paragraph, I underlined the last 5 sentences. I so desperately want to document those sentences here, but I must obtain permission from the author first. I'm working on that. What the words revealed to me is this: I have just about broken my arm while patting myself on the back all these years. "Oh, you're such a good little Christian wife, forgiving and moving on, and choosing joy in the midst of your sorrow. You poor thing, God is so proud of you! So your husband doesn't cherish you and love you the way you ought to be loved. (pat, pat, pat.) You're a good woman to put up with that and settle for so much less than you deserve. Bless your heart!"


Is that ugly or WHAT?!

On the next page, I gained a much more truthful understanding of what forgiveness really is and what UNforgiveness really looks like. I wrote in the margin of the book the following words:
"THIS IS IT!! The answer to my nagging question, 'Have I really forgiven him?' No. I have not."


All that hurt I uncovered and rolled around in on the riverbank? Classic unforgiveness.


When you really forgive, you let go of resentment. The word nerd in me loves this illustration of what resentment means: Re-sentIment. Sentiment means "feelings", so literally, resentment means "again, feelings". YES!! For years, every time I'm hurt or emotionally bullied or dismayed or disillusioned or betrayed, I pull that old familiar pain out of the darkness and WALLOW in it again. Why willingly go through that? What's my payoff? It's what allows me to be justified in my emotional paralysis. It allows me to focus inward. It tells me it's okay to be Wounded, Outcast, Lonely, and Afraid. It crowds out Hope, Joy, Peace, Love, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness... yeah. All of those. It crowds out God.


And another thing... it kills me. Holding on to those hurts for dear life does NOTHING to Darren, except annoy him on some level that he doesn't even recognize. Picking up my cross-to-bear and living in pain because-it's-my-right-dadgum-it DESTROYS my spirit. It eats me alive. 


I uncapped my pen and FURIOUSLY wrote how my life and heart would be different when I let all that go.
I wrote and wrote and wrote until my hand cramped, then I shook out the cramp and wrote some more. I never wished for my laptop all week, except for in that moment when my hand couldn't keep up with my heart. There is NO honor, excellence or valor in holding on to past hurt. NONE.


When I was finished, I stood in the midst of that mesquite grove and longed for the river again. I left my things behind and headed down the fence line until I found a gate I could squeeze through, then headed down a road that I envisioned would eventually lead me to the water's edge. When I didn't get there fast enough, I tore through the undergrowth and briars until the river stretched out before me. And there, I fell to my knees and asked God to forgive my unforgiveness. Then I wept tears of utter joy - pure relief - for deliverance from the oppression and bondage of my unforgiving heart. The pain and sorrow that accompanied it was never my cross to bear, and is never to be my cross to bear again for as long as I live.


Oh GOD, My DELIVERER! I love you I love you I LOVE YOU!