A Story of Forgiveness

I heard a poignant story about forgiveness the other day. In a conversation with a woman about what it takes for inner healing to happen, she told me about how her heart had been healed. She said that some time back, when she was a part of a small group, they spent an entire meeting on forgiveness.

After a discussion and sharing aspects of their histories, they did a powerful exercise. They took turns writing the initials of someone they needed to forgive on a small board covered with sand. After they did that, they were to wipe away the initials, signifying the forgiving of that person.

When it came around to her turn, with difficulty, still not being sure she was ready to forgive, to let go and finally move on, she nevertheless wrote the initials on the sand. Then she dutifully erased them. She said she didn?t feel much during the exercise.

It was after the meeting, on the way home that it really hit her, what she had symbolically done. She found herself suddenly crying, weeping so hard she had to pull over. She could just not stop crying; the tears were temporarily out of her control. But after a time, the tears subsided. I asked her how she felt at that point. She said exhausted yet relieved. I asked if she felt a kind of release. She said ?Oh, yes, finally.?

The story gets better. She said the next time she saw this person, her feelings had really changed. Gone were anger and bitterness. In their place, she felt peace; she had successfully forgiven and moved on with her life, freeing that section of her soul for greater love and enjoyment of her daily life.

There is no freedom quite like that of forgiving another—whether or not the other ?deserves? it. I well remember the freedom unleashed in my heart and soul when I forgave my abusive stepfather. It was something I did for me, not for him. I don?t know if he ever reformed or warranted what I succeeded at doing. I sure hope so, for his sake. He is surely dead by now, and in God?s hands. That is precisely where I put him as a part of my forgiveness. Leave such people over to the ?Higher Power,? to the ?Final Judge.?

Just as we have police, so that we do not have to become our own enforcers, so do we need to depend on a higher justice system than that which we could ever attain. I believe in justice; I also believe in mercy. And in the end, it is not up to me to be the final judge of another.

I tell people that only God can put a period at the end of a person?s name—or life. We may want to say, ?That so and so is a…? and be done with it—and with that person. But there is always more to another than we know. Perhaps it is true that ?to know all, is to forgive all.?

I suppose there are those who for whatever reason are unable and/or unwilling to reform, to recognize, regret and seek to repent from their wounding ways. I want to protect myself and loved ones from such persons. I also have great pity for them, for they are miserable to a person. They have no idea what they are missing relative to love and joy.

Nor will they experience the gracious freedom of forgiveness, coming to and from them.