The Forgiveness Challenge

My list was longer than I thought and it's taking some time. I also procrastinated for almost a week, looking at my legal pad, which is practically attached to me everywhere I go, looking at my pen, also attached, and avoiding them like the plague.
In my mind I could easily list the small wounds; there was the girl who's name I can't remember who was mean to me in Kindergarten (I've also realized through this process that I'm incredibly petty), a rude comment made by my grandmother when I was a teen, several years of verbal abuse from a relative that I wasn't that close to anyway, all the millions of mean things my brother did to me as a child which have resulted in a fear of stair cases and severe claustrophobia, etc. Those things were easy.
But when I thought about the truly difficult things; the way my father left, old rejections that truly, deeply wounded, a bitter and recent betrayal by someone I trusted wholeheartedly, and a few others- I came up against a wall which loomed hugely in front of me. It was a wall of fear...and of pride.
Fear because in order to really forgive someone, you have to take an honest look at what the hurt really was, realistically look at your own feelings, and those things are scary. They hurt, so it makes sense that we avoid them.
And pride because I felt I had the "right" to hold onto my anger and resentment like a hot coal in my hand, yelling, "I won't let go! You can't make me!! It's mine!" Well, yes, it is. But it's also continuing to wound me, debilitating me, with each passing moment. And who's really suffering here? Not my father. Not those who rejected me. Certainly not that mean girl from Kindergarten who I'm sure is a lovely individual now.

In the words of C.S.Lewis, "Forgiveness is a beautiful word, Until you have someone to forgive." and he's right, as he so often is. Forgiveness is not a choice we make once. It's a perpetual release, over and over, for what can often be many years or perhaps a lifetime. My father left when I was sixteen and then disowned me in an email because " if you're the kind of daughter I'm going to have, then I'd rather not have one." I remember those words as if they are engraved in stone, which in a sense, they are. They're written on the granite tablet of my heart.
His rejection is probably the most minor in the list of "impossible forgives" which I have been called to do. This is not to say that I have more of a right than anyone else to hang onto my bitterness, because certainly I do not, but only to say that I have a deep and personal understanding of the battle that we all face when asked, either by our God, or by the mere penalties we face in our lives for hanging onto those coals, to release others from the prison we think we've placed them in.
And, as my dear friend Nancy stated in her comment to The Root of Bitterness, Forgiveness is entirely a personal matter. It's not something we will succeed at simply by advertising that we've done it. We can ask and answer that question only for ourselves.
Last summer, I had a strange experience involving my anger towards my dad. Very randomly, on a day when I was busy doing other things and not really thinking about him at all, I felt a very real prompting to write him a letter. To which my response was, "Are you kidding me?! No way!"
I delayed and delayed, that feeling of prompting getting heavier and heavier, the way it does when you KNOW you're supposed to be doing something and you are NOT doing it. When the constant prompting became too annoying to continue ignoring, I sat down with pen and paper, gave myself a pep talk, and tried to write. Nothing happened. I'm a writer. I can write just about anything because for some reason, that's the way God made me, and I tell you, I could not write that letter.
I started over and over, Dear.....who? Not 'dad' certainly. And 'father' was way too weird. I tried his given name and that looked ridiculous, but a better choice than the familial, so I went with it. And then, where do I start? "Hey, nice to finally be writing. Been awhile. How are things?" Nope. I couldn't even put the words on the page without the anger boiling up inside me. I didn't know what to say. I could imagine him sitting there reading it and picking up the phone. I didn't want him to pick up the phone. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't even want to be writing that stupid letter to that man! I was furious with him and I refused to be polite! I started again and again, but my letter always turned angry and bitter, full of resentment and accusations, and I couldn't send that! My dad had to know that I'd grown beyond that and that he no longer affected me. That would give him too much power and I wouldn't do it. I just wouldn't!
But I'd been asked to write the letter and that feeling wouldn't let me go. In frustration, I tore off the millionth sheet from my trusty legal pad and wadded it up, an action I loathed because it indicated failure, and I started over. My way. Obviously I had writers block and just needed to get the emotions out of the way before I proceeded.
I then spent the next hour writing the most scathing letter I've ever written to anyone. Obviously his given name was replaced in the introduction for a pronoun more appropriate to my feelings at the time. The rest of that literary masterpiece followed suit. Four pages, front and back. Later, I set my pen down and leaned back in my chair.
"Well." I said belligerently to that still, small voice who had prompted me to write it in the first place. "There it is. I wrote a letter, just like you said." and dripping with sarcasm and hurt, I added, "Shall I send it????"
I didn't really expect a response, but He surprised me with one anyway and said, very simply, very clearly, in the way He does that is unmistakably His own, "I didn't tell you to send a letter. I just told you to write one." ............oh.

And there it was. All my anger and bitterness and rage and rejection, all the words the child was never able to say to the parent that left them, written plainly in pen and ink, in my own words, undeniable. I hate it, though it's obviously needed, when The Lord reveals the contents of my heart. Especially when I'm trying so hard to hide them from myself and everyone else. I just hate it.
I hate it because it makes me weep. Because it causes me to look closely and realistically at the pain I feel, and not just the anger. I hate it because it makes me vulnerable to a God I don't fully understand and never will and because looking at who we really are is often gut wrenching and horrible.
I sat there that day last summer and cried for that child that I used to be. And I suppose that was when I was truly brave, when I accepted that he hadn't just wronged me when he left and said those terrible things. He had hurt me. He'd broken me. And part of me was always afraid that I'd never be put back together.

Now, was I supposed to restore the relationship with my father? Nope. Because forgiveness does not always equal reconciliation. Again, it's not about the other person. It's about us. I was only supposed to release him, and I am still in the process of doing that. I'm not where I want to be, sure. But I'm definitely not where I was! That day was a miraculous day in my life and I'm so thankful that The Lord did what He did, though it was painful at the time, because I have been slowly able to release that hot coal from my hand. And as I am able to do so, my heart is changed. My father's hurtful words are not what I want written on my heart when the book of my life is at it's end.
Forgiveness is a life giving process in the same way that it is a life giving process when someone is released from prison. The doors swing open, the light shines in and eyes that have not seen freedom in ages, look to the sun, the sky, the world, and it is full of possibilities, endless roads that may be traveled now that freedom has been won.
I. WANT. THAT.

"For where the Spirit of The Lord is, there is freedom..." 2 Corinthians 3:17

Proverbs 31

I found it very interesting that there would be such vibrant viewpoints regarding this scripture on one of my previous posts and so I'm hoping to dig a little deeper and add some fact to what, to me, has always been perception only.

I have to be honest and say first, I've always hated this scripture. It brought to mind a few women I've known or counseled with over the years who took it to a very extreme place. A place of timidity, rigidity of opinion, lack of thought and creativity and moreover, a place where freedom and strength, also known as feminism in some circles, were shunned. As someone who takes great delight in the freedoms of women, the strength that we can and do exhibit so often and with such greatness, the beauty and power that women like Maya Angelou have embraced with such grace, I have often been quite offput by this scripture and it's detailed and exhausting description of what I 'should' be doing at every given interval of my day.
Knowing that only truly remarkable fakes could pull off even a vague impersonation of this 'ideal woman', I gave up entirely, a surrender to failure which is undoubtedly more common than the lovely ladies in the church pews would admit. I also quietly allowed a large and imposing CANYON to spread between myself and the God who inspired such ridiculous and impossible instruction to be penned as a 'gift' for women. This is obviously not something we can agree on, God, so let's just not talk about it, shall we?
Having discovered relatively recently that in fact there IS a God, and knowing that He is wholly loving, failed to make a difference in my mind for this controversial passage. There are things I can never understand and never be, lets just leave it at that. In other words, 'Look, God, we just started speaking again. Let's not dredge up all that old stuff again, hm?'
But He has a way of doing just that, bringing up all those old things that we've tucked away to be dealt with later. So this is my later.
Here's the way I, and so many other women around the world, read Proverbs 31. And please note here- this is not the actual passage, but one woman's interpretation- and before you judge, understand also, that I know this isn't REALLY what it says.

"A wife of perfect character and form, who can find? God values her the most because she's better than you. Her marriage is completely happy 100% of the time and her husband is proud of her perfection. She never says or does anything against his will or opinion and is a bright blessing to his life because of it. She labors constantly within her home and never sits down to read a book or take a bubble bath or smoke a cigarette. She is wealthy enough to have servants and she's nice enough to treat them well. In spite of this wealth and service, she still makes all her own clothes, cooks all her own meals and never actually sleeps because she's made of sterner stuff than that. She is so industrious that she has enough for her family and the family next door as well, clothing and feeding all their kids too.
Her husband is a hunk and spends his considerable free time on currency trading. He has a lot of friends and they're all jealous of him.
She is a seamstress, a merchant, a trader and a vintner all at once and makes a considerable fortune on each vocation.
On top of all of this, she is also incredibly wise and intelligent and many come from far and wide to hear her speak. She is completely secure in the future because she knows how amazingly capable she is and because they're wealthy after all, so what's to be afraid of?
She never sits, never sleeps, never worries, never weeps, never yells or spanks or fails to read all the labels on her groceries to make certain they're all organic and don't contain red 25. And of course, because of all of this, her teen children, who are pimple free and full of peace, love and harmony, rise up and tell her what a bang up job she's done on every darn thing. Her husband never has an affair with a coworker, develops an addiction to pornography or beer or is ever late for dinner because this wise, beautiful, intelligent, smoldering woman is waiting at home with a meal made from scratch on a table she carved from the oak out back.
Many women do good things, but only the one who matches this description is worthy of love and due respect.

I imagine that for those of you who love Proverbs 31, seeing it butchered this way is a bit annoying. But you have to understand, there are those women out there who read it just this way, as a judgment on us, a hopeless task that we can never fulfill and one that would change us, mold us, into a cookie cutter Christian female without personality, practically without personhood at all. This verse is not beautiful to us, but damning, depressing and frankly, boring.

I came across a piece recently, which puts some of the actual proverb (not my parody) into a clearer perspective, at least for me. This is a character sketch of the proverbs 31 woman, taken from the Woman of Faith Study Bible


" Ahh, the noble wife. Busy, Busy Busy! How does one woman find time for so much?
That's it! She is not one woman. She's all of us- and none of us. In a time when most women were not taken very seriously apart from childbearing, the writer of this proverb dared to present a picture of a woman as a glorious, vibrant, competent and intelligent creation of God. The imagery is as relevant today as the day he wrote it. As we put some of the noble wife's talents into a modern context, we recognize her in ourselves and in our sisters.
Some women might go after quality clothing for their families and shop at several supermarkets to find the best buys. They fill their houses with plants. Their pantries are well stocked, their bathrooms are laden with plenty of toilet paper and fresh towels.
Some women contribute clean used clothing and food to the poor. They give birthday parties for disadvantaged children and tutor slow learners. They rock newborn babies at the hospital, wash windows for the elderly and take in foster children. Their homes are gathering places for neighborhood kids.
There are women for whom no job is too challenging or too niggling. They chop wood for the fireplace, mow the lawn and shovel snow. They repair the toaster, put up shelving, balance the budget and debug the computer. They also dress attractively, quilt and sew and sell homemade gifts on consignment.
A Godly wife may impress her workplace with her good judgment and reliability. She plans the weeks activities to make sure the important things come first, both at home and at work. She prays and sets family goals with her husband. She encourages him, asks about his day and shares her insight. On special occasions she may invite friends from his or her work to dinner.
A wife of noble character wears many faces and fills many roles- roles that can change with the seasons of her life. In essence, she draws her strength from The Lord to lay down her life for those she loves. Her creative industry may fill her day with countless activities or only one or two to which she gives herself deeply. Her reward? Her children adore her. Her husband cherishes her company, trusts her judgment and brags about her to all of his friends. She will be remembered- long after she is gone- not as a woman who beautifully knit a sweater or successfully balanced a budget, but as a woman who sought the Lord first of all."

Reading Proverbs 31, I have to assume that it isn't a to-do list of virtues or I'd be overwhelmed before I even began. It simply isn't possible to be all those things at once, or even a fraction of all those things, really. But as is often the case with God, quite often when I believe He's speaking judgment on me, He's actually speaking Mercy.
This passage needs to be exclaimed in every church, from every pulpit and spoken to every woman we meet. And it needs to be spoken in this way; not as an impossible task or a divining rod of spirituality, not as a measuring stick to gauge our failures and successes- but this; as an endless list of possibilities for who we are and who we can be.
This is not a passage of condemnation- or at least I've found a way to read it so it no longer strikes me as such- but one of limitless possibilities for freedom in who we are as women, to be whatever we're gifted to be in whatever way we're able. It isn't describing one single woman who miraculously accomplishes so many tasks, but describing all of us, living such vastly different lives, using our myriad talents and loving within our own individual marriages/ relationships. We are each of us so different, so purposefully different, that it would be a cosmic waste to conform to one rigid standard or tradition of living.
I believe this passage is a great and wise instruction on how to use our talents to make a way for ourselves in this world, and also a reminder that we aren't all the same, but are each so valuable to Him for those differences. Where one can sew, another might build, and still another write or sing or bake or rockclimb or sail or play drums. And all are 'worth far more than rubies' to the One who formed us, who gave us our gifts and who is always so faithful to provide ways of using them.
I've come to discover that these verses are not a means of separating the wheat from the chaff, the spiritual giants from the poor losers, as I have often seen myself, who can't get their act together in the wife/mother role- but rather a celebration of all of our differences and the beautiful tapestry we can become if we choose to love one another beyond those differences, and actually, love because of those differences. In terms of a 'to-do' list for my spiritual life? My number one rule of 'Love God and Love Others' still stands firm.