Can Forgiveness (REALLY) Heal?

It's tricky business: FORGIVENESS. And I've no doubt there are likely about a gazillion articles, books, blogs, podcasts, etc. ad nauseaum, on the topic. Probably because...it's tricky business.

It may be "tricky" for a lot of reasons, but in my experience, after you clear away all the Ego and Excuses and ExtraCurricularBullshit, it turns out, it really isn't so tricky after all. Because, in the end, we all find out (eventually) that forgiveness isn't about whomever it is we blame for our pain or sadness or unfortunate circumstances. The act of Forgiveness is an act of Love...for ourSELVES.

Now, if you've ever read any of the nineteen bazillion "self-help" books out there, you've likely already heard this. OR if you happen to be of a certain religious pedigree. OR if you just stumbled upon this little nugget by "accident" matters not at all. What matters is that you reach that moment. That you finally get it. That you feel the excruciating hole in your heart begin to fill up again. And if you haven't yet reached that moment, perhaps I can provide a little hope for you until you do.

Let us back up for a moment (because you know that it's nearly impossible for me to write in any kind of chronological way).

A few years back, a dear and beloved friend of mine sent me a book she thought I might enjoy. The name of that book is "The Shack". It is a novel, written by a clearly "christian" man, who may or may not have had some semblance of a similar experience to the main character in the story. It is the author's rendition of what he believes is the ultimate answer to all the pain and grief and inexplicable agony we must endure until we find our way back to faith. At that moment in my Life, I wanted no part of any such story. I had (and still have) no interest in stories about "god" or "faith" or religious mumbo jumbo. To me, those stories are nothing more than stolen lore that were rewritten by a bunch of power-hungry men who wanted to control the masses. I've always believed that.

I still do.

Problem arose, though, when it occurred to me that my fascination with Mythology was nothing more than a curiosity about what makes Humans so vulnerable to such stories. I mean, just because millions of people "believe" in some god or other doesn't mean that my inquisitive mind should dismiss their versions of any given Mythology. Just because I fancy Pan or Odin or Kokopelli over the "God of Abraham" is not a good reason to visit a story by some man from Canada who may or may not have a gift to write, right? In the end, three years after she sent me the book the first time, she sent it again. This time I was ready to read it.

I will tell you that the book is beautifully crafted. The story is both excruciating and exhilarating. Between the tragedy of the main character's horrific event and the lengths to which he was willing to go to relieve the pain of his life, the other characters in the story came to life on those pages. By the time I finished, I was wanting more. And believe when I say, I was stunned by this realization.

Fast forward several years: the book has now been made into a movie. Among the cast are the brilliant Octavia Spencer (of "The Help" fame, among others) and the darling Tim McGraw (of Country Music fame). The rest of the cast were actors I'd never heard of. But I really wanted to see it just so I could see how it would compare to the book. {Also, one of the characters is portrayed by a delicious looking man named Aviv Alush. YumYumYummy man!} When it was released on DVD, I rented it and watched with a mix of trepidation and eagerness. Remember, I already knew the story and when I say "horrific", I mean horrific.

I actually had to pause the movie several times so I could gather myself and calm my heart rate down to a reasonable pulse. I called my dear friend and said, "I'm not sure I can watch it." She assured me that I'd be happy I did if I could just make it through the first part of the story. So I grabbed a box of Kleenex, poured a glass of wine, and returned to the film.

I can't even begin to tell you how much this movie affected me. In all kinds of ways. On all kinds of levels. But the one thing that stuck out, days and weeks after I'd watched it, was a particular scene in which the main character must utter the words "I forgive you". It was one of the most heart-wrenching scenes I've ever witnessed. It tore me up so bad that I had to pause (again!) and call my friend (again!) and get a little more assurance that it was "worth it". That scene sticks with me to this day. And brings us back 'round to this whole long-winded missive.

Forgiveness.

Whether of not there is a god, or a place called heaven or Love so powerful it can restore us, is of little importance. People get to choose what to believe in. What god to worship. How to live their lives. But no matter the choices we make, it is essential that we all come to understand that Forgiveness is absolutely, positively essential if we are to live with any semblance of Joy. In the end, no matter what "happens" when we leave the Planet, it is the space in between that makes or breaks a Life. Forgiveness, the most powerful form of Love I know, is the key to such a Life.

But then ... who am I to say?

moments of clarity

Dad was a stickler for doing things right. And doing them well. And keeping things in their proper places. He didn't do much to help my mom around the house; that was her job. But his workshop was always neat and orderly. The moment he finished whatever he was doing, he'd put all his tools away and vacuum the sawdust off of every surface. If somebody went into his shop and moved anything, the moment he walked in he'd notice it. I always admired that about him. I'm guessing it was the beginning of my own "attention to detail".

The downside of my dad's keen eye was that while he always noticed if something was 'off', he rarely if ever said a word when something was done to perfection by any of his children. He was, for the most part, great at badgering and terrible at praising. My friend once called him that: a "badgerer". And she also noted that I had grown up to be "just like him".

I didn't much like the sound of that. But I knew she was correct. She wasn't trying to be mean; she was simply trying to show me something I'd long overlooked. I had become quite the pain-in-the-butt when it had to do with the men in my life. Nothing was ever good enough. If he did the dishes or laundry or vacuuming, I would go behind him to see that it was done properly. Not surprisingly, I would always find the job to be 'less-than' done. According to my standards, it was a shabby job. So rather than saying thank you I'd re-do whatever it was he'd done.

I'm quite certain it drove most of them nuts. But none ever said a word. They'd just keep trying until finally they'd quit doing anything at all. Go figure.

It wasn't until I moved in with a man (who was not my lover or even a friend) to share a large house that I saw what I'd been doing. To be sure, the guy was what can only be termed a "slob". But that wasn't what got my attention. I had promised to take care of the kitchen. I would do all the cooking and cleaning in exchange for a reduction in rent. That was the deal we struck and I was determined to keep my end of the bargain.

About a year into it, he walked into the kitchen while I was cooking dinner. He 'took over' my work space so he could make some guacamole for his pre-dinner snack. I said something about the way he was cutting the tomatoes (or some stupid thing like that) and the guy just FREAKED. He was a fairly quiet man who rarely raised his voice. But at that moment, I guess he'd had enough. He started hollering like a crazy person, waving the knife around and reading me the riot act.

I remember thinking, "Wow. He sure is sensitive. I was just trying to help him get it right." But what I didn't realize was that for more than a year I'd been nit-picking the poor guy to death and he'd finally reached his limit. He was fed up with me and my badgering. He had all this stuff bottled up and when the cork blew, he let me have it. BIG TIME.

Of course, at that moment I thought he was being completely unreasonable. When I tried to speak, he told me to shut my mouth and just listen. He was enraged to the point that I really thought he might hit me. I backed off and went back to my 'wing' of the house to let him cool off and to allow my own heart rate to stabilize.

And that's when it hit me.

I saw the whole thing as if it were a movie. I heard every criticism I'd ever made. I felt the resentment and the irritation and the condescension I'd showered on him for all that time. And I saw all the others who I'd done the same thing to for all those many years. In a flash, I saw me as my father.

OUCH.

A short while later, I went back downstairs and asked if I could speak. He'd calmed down by then and allowed me the floor. I apologized with more sincerity than I'd ever mustered in my life. I told him about my moment of clarity and how it came to me. I also told him that I would do my very best to never, ever do those things again.

I could see the relief in his eyes. I saw his body relax and heard the change in his voice when he told me it was okay. He accepted my apology and never said another word about it. And then the strangest thing happened.

Shortly after that I noticed that he'd begun doing things around the house that he'd never done before. Little things. Like putting his dishes in the bin of soapy water I always left in the sink (I'd asked him to do this for a long time. He never would oblige.); or putting his shoes in his own room instead of leaving them all over the house. Or  taking the trash out before it spilled onto the cupboard floor. He even started picking up his trash out on the patio. Little things that he'd never done that had always driven me crazy. Without my asking, he began to do the things that I'd always 'nagged' him about.

Every time I noticed something he'd done, I'd say thank you. I realized that it was one of the things I hated about how my dad treated us. And having seen it up close and personal, I vowed I'd never do that again. Those "little things" made all the difference in the world. To both of us. It wasn't long before the roommate and I had a whole new dynamic going on. Everything seemed so easy. No friction, no angst, no resentment. Just a fair and equitable cohabitation that made life for both of us so much more pleasant.

And all that time I thought it was everyone else who was a mess.

GEEZLOUIZE.

That Tricky Little Piece of Forgiveness ~

Doncha just love how things keep coming back...until you finally hear the message? Doncha just love that? Well...okay, sometimes it's kind of painful. Like the ol' proverbial thorn you can't seem to grab with those finely sharpened tweezers. Try as you might, that little sucker stays just out of reach. Know what I mean?

Yep. It's kind of like that sometimes. But then there are those other times...when whatever it is shows up...yet again...and you say to yourself, "Hey. I'm ready for this now. I can see this now. I'm there."

Those are the funnest ones. No pain. No angst. Just that lovely AHAAAAA!

So that's where I am today. Back to one of those things:

Forgiveness.

{ohhhhhh. is she really goin' there again???}

Yep. We're goin' there again. Because it's a pretty big slice of the cake. No forgiveness, no growth. No forgiveness, no lightness of Being. No forgiveness, no LIFE.

The funny thing about forgiveness is that, for many, it's pretty easy to 'give' to others. You love them. You know deep in your heart they didn't really mean it. They're being who they are and it's not your job to judge them. All those wonderfully loving thoughts that allow us to move onward. We may not forget, but we forgive. Over and over, sometimes to our own detriment. Yet, still, we do it.

That's the easy part.

The tougher challenge is SELF forgiveness. At least it has been for me.

The thing is, whenever this came up before, when someone would say to me, "You must forgive yourself. You cannot truly love your SELF if you don't forgive first.", the first thing I'd think (and sometimes ask) was, "forgive myself for WHUT?"

My resistance to forgiveness was the source of my logical reaction (& instantaneous question). The fact that I even had to ask "for whut?" was a pretty clear signal that I wasn't yet ready. I wasn't quite in that space where I could forgive myself. It wasn't about "for whut?", but rather about my ability (or lack thereof) to allow it at all.

Sound a little backward?

Truth be told, I'm not really even sure about backward and forward either. It's that whole 'live in the moment' thing I've been working on. But that's another story for another day. Praise Allah! (GRIN. For those of you who are yet unfamiliar with some of my irreverent hollerin's, it's a joke. Again..another story for another day. I just like sayin' it. It's FUN!) At this moment, the only thing that really seems to be of any importance is that I can actually feel what it means to forgive. I don't need to know "whut", all I really needed was to be open to the feeling of that loving forgiveness I so willingly give to everyone else...to ME.

To forgive oneself is to open a mammoth door into a world of absolute love. The kind of love that moves mountains. The kind of love that makes you feel that everything is possible. The kind of love that eliminates all doubt of your worthiness. The kind of love that has transformed entire worlds. The BIGOVERTHETOPHOLYTOLEDO kind of love that you even Hollywood hasn't captured on film. It's probably the single-most important ingredient to cookin' up that cake. Or maybe the analogy outta be bread. You've got to have yeast to make bread. (well, good bread, anyway). So forgiveness is the yeast. It helps you rise up...and move beyond your self-imposed limitations. See what I mean?

That it's taken me this long to get it is almost funny. But then, I happen to believe everything happens precisely as it should, when it should. So who cares how long its taken? All that matters is that now I do (get it) and the feeling really is like flying. That light, airy, free kind of feeling. Up, up in the sky, riding the currents, gazing down on the splendor of the stunning wonders of Planet Earth. Everything is crystal clear. Everything is sparkling. Everything that once seemed so painful is suddenly gone.

Liberation.

That's the closest I can come to the feeling. Utter, absolute liberation.

It's a fine day to be alive.

Doncha think?