The Truth About Forgiveness

Forgiveness. It’s a beautiful word…that is when we hear a nice rendition of someone else’s willingness to offer it. But when we ourselves are faced with the command to forgive amidst the cruelest of acts, it becomes an ugly three-syllable word we come to abhor. 

Forgive, Lord? I can’t. And frankly, I don’t want to. After what she did, I need some time to fume. 

Forgive her, He gently nudged.

It was getting late, and my alarm was set for six-thirty. “But Lord,” I begged, “I’ve got to get sleep if I’m going to deal with 25 needy kids tomorrow. Can’t this wait?” I turned on my computer in an attempt to distract my mind from the inner struggle with my will and His. I logged onto Facebook hoping it would offer some interesting morsel to think about while I fell asleep. As the screen loaded, I turned my eyes to the first post on the news feed.

Forgiven people ought to forgive.

The words almost jumped off the screen as tears began to stream down my face. The weight of the statement drove into my heart like a knife. Forgive? I. Just. Can’t. I sat there and sobbed.

Just days prior, my world had come crashing down. I felt pain. Palpable, throbbing, non-relenting pain. My sister-in-law had left. And it was over. More than six years of marriage and a decade of friendship gone. The ultimate betrayal had happened, and my brother was devastated. I felt crushed under the weight of my own pain and my concern for him.

My brother and I are close. We “get” each other in a way that only siblings can. And I would jump in front of a car for him. No thought to it. I just would. And when his heart breaks, mine shatters. When he bleeds, I bleed too. My brother isn’t the most vocal about his feelings, but if there is one thing I am certain of, it’s that he loves me. And I invite anyone to try to prove otherwise. I guess it has to do with all of those rides down the stairway together as kids…in a laundry basket. :-) It has a way of bonding you. Or when we kept each other company while we lay there covered head to toe with chicken pox. We’ve done life together. We stick together. He’s one in a million.

For several weeks before my sister-in-law had left, I would come home from church with a question looming. Who did I need to forgive? Each Sunday, the focus of the sermon hadn’t been forgiveness, but it continued to come up. Week after week I would go home and search my heart. No one came to mind, yet the weight of the command to forgive stuck with me in a very odd way.

And that night as the computer screen cast a glow upon my face with another nudge to forgive, it became clear. The Lord had been preparing my heart even before she had left. As I breathed in another sob, I concluded that I had to obey…tonight. So, then and there I did the only thing I could do. 

I asked for help.

The Lord was more aware of how completely unable to forgive I really was. But He was all ears that night. On my knees, I quieted my heart and prayed for help to forgive. For help to even want to forgive.

I didn’t feel a wave of love for my betrayer. I felt no different that night as I pulled my covers over my head. But I knew He would answer. He would help me. One day at a time, I would forgive.

Now two years later, I can honestly say there is no anger left. I am amazed as I even type this. For days after that night, I had to pray over and over for help to again forgive. But day after day, He was there. There to hold my hand. There to lift my brother up. To give strength in great weakness. Comfort to deep wounds. To offer help to ordinary people.

And today instead of bondage to pain. Bondage to hurt. Bondage to anger. I am free. Free to love one who betrayed my brother. One who betrayed me.

Forgiveness. It’s a beautiful word.

Shrinking Back

I stood there staring in unbelief. With eyes squinted I took a step closer to the softball field in hopes that I could overcome my less-than-perfect distance vision. Certainly that couldn’t be her running, I thought. Surely she wouldn’t be playing so soon. Not after what had happened.

As she turned around, a smile spread across my face and I realized that it was indeed her. Tenacious her.

Sprinting the terrifying sixty feet from home to first once again.

It was her. Absolutely amazing.

You see, to most observers that day, Rachel was just the next number on the batting order. Just another player. Just another face. Sure, she wore a helmet while batting, but otherwise nothing seemed out of place. But to the knowing eye, Rachel was a trooper. Just weeks before she lay there bleeding. Her world spinning. Her head throbbing. Others sprang into action, and soon she was receiving care inside an ambulance on her way to the ER.

It was during her run to first that a fielder had stopped the ball and attempted to throw her out. It was a hard throw, but the ball never reached the mitt of the first baseman. Rachel, knowing the play would be close, ran with all she had. As she neared the bag, it happened. The ball missed the first baseman by just enough to nail her in the back of the head, splitting it open. She would later receive seven staples to her head.

But Rachel is a trooper. An example of what we can be like as we walk through life.

At times the pain can be so severe that we are all but crippled by it.

In the last few years, there have been times that making it through one day became a daunting task. The pain of betrayal, the grief of loss, the anxiety of the unknown, and the death of dreams were a reality in my life. Each time I conquered a day, closing my eyes with thoughts of thanks to my Savior, I felt as though I was a small child celebrating the victory of first steps taken. Yet at times, the next day would land me face down, knees throbbing, struggling to hold on to hope. Thoughts of fear and hurt would swirl around me as I cried out to Him.

Yet in those moments, I must remember that “we do not belong to those who shrink back and are destroyed, but to those who have faith and are saved.” (Hebrews 10) Just prior to this verse, the author of Hebrews writes that we “have need of endurance.”

The Christian walk is more like a run. A LONG run. At times a HOT run. Difficult terrain. Competitors elbowing us as we round corners. Spectators sneering. Side cramps nagging. And then we are injured. Staples pounded into the back of our head.

But like Rachel, we are not of those who shrink back.
  
With head still throbbing, we reach down, lace up our cleats and take the field. We turn our gaze from the hurt to the Healer. From the wound to the One wounded for us. From our fears to the Faithful One who has gotten us this far.
 
“Looking unto Jesus...”                     

A Divine Paradox

Without the beating rain,
         the brilliant rays of a rainbow can offer no promise.

Without the enduring pain of labor,
         a healthy baby will not emerge.

Without a raging forest fire,
         the hard seed of a eucalyptus tree will never crack and sprout to life.

Without the subtle tearing of a muscle,
         it cannot grow.

Without forceful winds,
         a tree’s roots will not go deep and offer stability.

Without the shedding of a tear,
         one will never know the warmth of comfort.

And without death,
         there can be no resurrection, no life, and no hope.

Romans 6:10-11
“For the death that He died, He died to sin once for all; but the life that He lives, He lives to God. Likewise, you also, reckon yourselves to be dead indeed to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

A Letter from Satan

Light filled the room with a mysterious beauty. The light was mesmerizing, but something was oddly wrong. The young woman picked up a letter and read. It began with words dripping of sweetness, yet something vile begged to be known. Slowly she scanned it, line by line. It read:
 
Dear Sarah,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wrote as quickly as possible. I was gravely concerned at hearing of your turmoil of thoughts. You have a new friend that has been asking probing questions. This is causing you to doubt your choices, your lifestyle, even your eternal destination. Hopefully I can right the wrong done to you in the following.

Your friend has questioned the very fact that you are a Christian. Don’t let her religious fanaticism cause you to doubt. You’ve gone to church. You even pray. You are far more religious than most. What more can be expected? No one is perfect. Not even your “friend.”

On top of that, she has raised some serious doubts about your lifestyle. Does this not agitate you as it does me?! First off, who is she to judge??? Is my anger coming through? I’ve got your back, you know. Living with your boyfriend wrong?! You love each other and plan on getting married. So who’s it hurting?

Now for your most prominent concern. When you die, then what? Well, God is a God of love. You know the Bible, right? Trust me, it says that He loves you. He wouldn’t throw someone like you into Hell. You love your family and help people. You even went to church last week. Sang the worship songs loudly. Gave some money to help out. He will remember those things. It’s not like you’re a drug dealer or have killed anyone. God loves you. Rest assured. Yes, rest assured. Heaven is most certainly in your future.

Your forever friend,
Satan

The letter almost stuck to her hands as she tried to set it down. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in every word. It sounded so right. It seemed so easy. Why had she listened to her religiously fanatic friend anyway? Life was good. She was mostly good. And God, He was good too, right?

But suddenly the “feel good” light disappeared and another letter caught her eye. As she reached for it, she saw a picture in her mind as if a movie was playing in front of her. She saw herself walking along a road. It was a wide road and was full of the hustle and bustle of many others walking along side of her. The vision ended abruptly, but somehow she knew the road led straight to Hell.

She shuddered and began to tear up the first letter. In desperation for truth, she clenched the new letter close to her chest. It read:

Dear Sarah,

Do not be deceived. Satan is an angel of light. His words are mixed with truth and seem so right. But in the end, they will bring death to you. I am the Truth and I am the Way. The road to Me is narrow. Unlike the road you saw in your vision, this road has less people on it. It is not easy. Life will not be easy. Not many choose this road. 

Oh Sarah, if you could taste just a crumb of my love for you, how you’d dance! You see, my love, you are mistaken. You have believed that sin will make you happy. It will...for a while. Then, it will destroy you.

Oh the life I’d like to give you! The peace! The joy! The hope! Oh how you’d shine!

But now darkness wraps its arms around you tightly as you fight to be free. Free from sin and death. Free from lies. Your sin has struck you down again and again, pushing you farther and farther into a deep pit.

How I long to rescue you! To pull you out. To wrap you in a thick blanket of forgiveness, of acceptance, of my love. Will you let me?

Praying for you constantly and fighting for your freedom,
Jesus

A Prison Experience

The gate slammed shut with a sense of finality. His face still stinging from the slaps of his captors, John sat against a cool, back wall. Hours passed and the cell seemed to close in on the man of faith. A guard approached and slid the meager evening meal under the lowest bar. The man used to eating locusts in the wild swallowed the cold stew without difficulty and stood up to pace. His thoughts raced and fear planted a seed.

Prison. And at a time like this? Surely I will be a free man in no time. So many are repenting. Lives being changed. And Jesus. Yes, Jesus. The Son of God. Our Messiah has come, and the world must know! Surely this is no time for prison.

Hours became days and the seed of fear sprouted in his heart. Two of his disciples had visited him daily, offering encouragement and food. Today was different. Their usually upbeat faces and words had become a whisper of warning. Already a scheme was in the works to take his life. The hatred of some would stop short of nothing. They wanted him silenced. Forever.

Prison was taking a toll and John’s strong belief was being tested. His understanding was under fire, and confusion wrapped its strong arms around his torso, gripping him at the core.

“Go to Jesus,” John instructed the men. “Ask him if he truly is the One or if we are to expect another.”

The man of faith. The one sent to prepare the way. The voice in the desert. The man of God. The lover of Jesus, trembled in fear. Every word he had proclaimed so boldly came back to him as he sat in that musty cell. Realizing his life was in danger, his faith trembled as well.

Surely if Jesus is the Messiah, I would not be in prison. This makes no sense. God called me to prepare the way. To call people to repentance and to point them to Him. But I’m trapped in prison. And with a death wish looming over me. Large tears began to fall to the dirt floor. The man of God wept. Bitterly. Between sobs, he managed, I believe you, Father. I know Jesus is the One. He can raise the dead. He can heal the sick. He has freed lives trapped in sin. I’m just so, so confused.

As John sat there, he gave his weakness to God. He offered himself to his faithful Father, and in that moment, something incredible happened. The sweet love of God filled his cell. A faith not his own welled up inside of him. His weeping out of confusion turned to sobs of joy. He remembered how God had asked Abraham to sacrifice his son. How He had allowed Joseph to suffer in prison at the hands of his own brothers. Promises given and then tested. He had allowed such confusing and difficult situations to work out His perfect and beautiful plan. As John recalled the faithfulness of God, He praised Him in the depths of his soul.

The next day, his friends returned with Jesus’ response. One phrase stood out to the prisoner and seemed to breathe life to his crushed soul. “Blessed is he who is not offended because of Me,” Jesus had stated. Trust me, John, He seemed to be saying. My ways are not your ways. My ways don’t always make sense. Sometimes things are beyond difficult. Trust Me, John.

And in the midst of our most confusing and difficult days, He whispers the same to us.