Have you ever been hurt in a way that leaves you watching the same loop over and over again wondering what you could have done differently? How about in the way where afterwards you catch yourself telling them off if you could, spilling out all the “How could you” and “That’s not the way it should have ended” and “You did this.”
I spent the first few weeks of my race doing that. I’d been wounded. Bad. And I spent half my time telling people about all the great characteristics the person who caused the hurt had and how they had a plethora of excuses as to why they were treating me so. The other half of my time I spent making passive aggressive comments addressing the wound and telling others of how awful it was that I had been rejected and how immature it was that what I was experiencing was happening in the first place.
I spent a lot of time telling God I was sad. There were a lot of moments in which I would ask Him to help me process, help me grieve, and help me let go. I spent a lot of time, too, thinking of all the things I’d say upon a reunion, should it happen, when I got home. Would I ignore them? Would I point my finger? Would I pretend like it didn’t bother me at all, only to bring it up in a later conversation? Would I have moved on by then (it’s 9 months for goodness sakes)? Would I pretend like nothing ever happened to begin with?
Forgiveness is a difficult thing. It is a choice to rewrite your response, a left turn at the fork in the road everyone told you to turn right on. It is a moment that chooses to see the past, acknowledge its pain, and create a clean slate.
It’s the kindness of God that leads men to repentance. I think it’s the kindness of men leads men to repentance too. I know because I have been very undeserving of kindness and I have been forgiven greatly on both counts. Kindness doesn’t exist to make a profit. It’s good and gracious and looks like, “I love you anyway.”
Anger is the kind of response you have because you’re hurt. It’s a defense. At least, I think at first it was for me, and then later on it was what I felt like my response “should” be. “You should be mad, look at everything they did.”
“Look at the promises that were broken.”
“Look at what was ruined.”
“Look at the words that now mean nothing.”
“Look at everything that was left behind.”
“You should be upset. You should tell them off. You should be angry.”
And then I thought, “How exhausting,” and the Lord said, “What if you weren’t angry?”
What if in the moments where my anger is justified and my pain still prevalent, I decided to say, “I forgive you.” Not the kind that holds on, but the kind that looks at someone, and sees nothing in the history books besides an introduction. The kind that has new eyes and hands the pain to Jesus in exchange for the freedom of living without the weight of it.
I’ve lived two years exhibiting, in my eyes, moments that men should not have been kind let alone forgiving towards me. Moments where I expected the anger of God, but this year, in His sweet voice, I’ve heard words like, “Take my blood and be washed clean. Be done with it.”
I’ve heard words from kind friends that have forgiven and told me not of what I’ve done in passive aggressive remarks or in the heat of the next fight. I’ve had the privilege of knowing forgiveness that was undeserved, from the other side.
It’s the kindness of God that leads men to repentance. I think it’s His kindness that leads us to love Him too. I think that can also be true about people. Kindness leading to forgiveness leads to love. That’s the gospel, I think. The cross is love in its purest form and I believe it also speaks of kindness.
What could we build from just saying, “I forgive you,” even though we “should” be angry and we should put up walls and we should yell and fight and burn things? What could we build from the energy we gain from not having to remind people how horrible they’ve been over and over? What could we build from the ashes?
“I want to plant orchards of kindness.” I want to build bridges too. I want to create life from what should be dead things because it’s the nature of my Best Friend to do so. I want to think of reunions as sweet and fun and as what should have been painful and is now mended by the Holy Spirit. I want to rejoice because satan didn’t get what he wanted, and Jesus got to show up again. I want to live my life in the miracle of forgiveness. I have a hunch Jesus does too.
