unforgiveness

I sat on the edge of the river, pen in hand, workbook in my lap, and circled words on a page.

• Loneliness
• Fear of Rejection
• Low self-worth
• Impatience
• Fear of Non-Reciprocating Relationships

These words all represented things in my heart that were crowding God right out. I could get on board with every one of them (and even more that I didn't mention here). And then this one showed its ugly face:

• Unresolved Conflict (unforgiveness)

The Unresolved Conflict is a given. I have a plethora of Unresolved Conflicts! This entire blog is devoted to Unresolved Conflict. But I balked at that little word attached to it with its annoying little parentheses. unforgiveness? Nuh-uh. Ain't got none of that up in here.

See, I'm the most forgiving person I know. I forgive too fast, even. I know I've forgiven people (and let's be honest, I'm thinking solely of Darren here, so let's just call it like it is, shall we, Stacy?)... I know I've forgiven Darren because I don't wish him ill. I don't feel like I need to get vengeance. I don't feel spiteful. I love him anyway. That's forgiveness.

Or is it? I had to question that. I took a long, hard look at my heart. All I could see was justification, pride and hurt. Not a sign of unforgiveness.

I began working through the other words, identifying how each of the things I'd circled had edged God out. I was specific as I wrote them down. Then I wrote what my life might look like - how my heart might feel - if I were able to let those things go for good. All was good and fine until I came back around to that "u" word. Unforgiveness. *big sigh*  **huge eyeroll**

I asked God to show me the unforgiveness I was holding on to. I'm pretty sure I snarled my lip as I asked, too. "Whatever God, this is stupid and we both know it, but go on and try to show me where I've not forgiven him." hmpf.

One by one, memories flooded me. For a while, I refused to even write them down because I'D FORGIVEN THEM ALREADY. In fact, I'd purposefully left them out of the marriage story I've been telling because THEY WERE DEAD AND GONE and in the past. When I thought I'd remembered them all, I broke down and wrote them each down, in detail. It was cathartic. I begged God to show me more. What else am I hiding? What else have I not forgiven? He continued to bring memories to the forefront of my mind - little things that I didn't know I even remembered - small things, medium things, seemingly insignificant things. Words, events, whole conversations, broken promises, false witnesses, sideways glances, words, words, more words. Like a waterfall, the details of past hurts tumbled over the edge of my memory and crashed into the pool of my heart. I wept at the river's edge. It hurt so much to remember all those things. 

Then it was time to write down how my life would be different without the hurt taking up residence in my heart. But  I couldn't write. I felt good and sorry for myself and capped my pen in protest. I would not let it go. It should be enough to acknowledge the hurts; I had every right to hold on to them and not let them go. I'd been wronged! I'd been treated unfairly by Darren *AND* by God! I'd been wounded! DO YOU HEAR ME?? I'd been WOUNDED!! I'd been stripped of EVERYthing except this pain and sorrow, and it buoyed me. It protected me. It justified me. I would not give it up. It was my right to hold on to it. And so I did.

Then I headed up the hill... defeated, wounded, angry at God, and lonely. So, so lonely.

And that's when THIS story happened.