I remember what it felt like when he walked into my space unexpectedly and closed the door behind him. The early spring breeze blowing in from a single open window left the room feeling chilly, but my face grew warm and my eyes began to swell. Every part of my body became involuntarily tense and alert. The hair on my arms lifted, and my stomach started turning before words were even exchanged. I didn’t want him there.
I asked him to leave, but the words I meant to speak with authority and assurance barely broke through on the tail end of a whisper. He stayed firmly positioned between me and the only door out of the room. I remember the threatening click of the lock as it shut, no one from the outside would be able to get in unless they had the four digit code.
Standing up behind my desk, I asked him again to go but he wouldn’t. I told him through tears I didn’t want to talk anymore – I couldn’t talk anymore. My hands began shaking, so I leaned forward and placed them on the desk, trying to position my body in a way that hid the fear I’m sure he noticed anyway. The sound of my heart snapping into thousands of jagged pieces must have been audible, as I begged a man I once cared for deeply to leave me alone. Please, just go.
But, he had no intention of listening to me this time. It didn’t matter what I said to him, he had come to say his final peace and my pleas for him to leave didn’t carry any weight now.
I tried to stand tall as the arms I once found comfort in, were raised towards me in threatening anger. I remember the way his chest puffed up as it filled with a twisted mix of confidence, arrogance, and need for control; the way he seemed to grow even larger than his natural 6’ 4’’ frame. With a boldness that left me feeling defeated and broken, he began to speak cutting lies over me. Lies that went straight for the very core of who I was and what I believed I was worth.
A voice I once trusted began to tell me how he had never really loved me at all. He told me the four years we were together didn’t mean anything to him, that he was moving on and it wasn’t a hard thing to do, because he had found someone better than me – someone who was all the things I never would be. I remember feeling like I’d been kicked in the stomach as he said matter of factly, “And If I don’t date you, who will?”
In three minutes, he tore into every insecurity I had with piercing accuracy.
I remember sliding to my knees behind the desk after he had finished shouting his hurt, leaving me alone in the cool of the quiet spring breeze once again. I had never felt so vulnerable, so crushed emotionally and physically. I remember feeling like everything he had just said to me was true – that somehow I wasn’t lovable, that I would never be ___________ enough to love.
It’s been four years, but those three minutes have replayed in my mind more than any other moment I’ve lived. His words, the words I’ve wanted to forget the most, the words that sent me into darkness and depression, have been the hardest words to shake from my memory.
And when you replay hurt like that enough, the lies begin to sound like truth. The longer you let those words linger, the harder it becomes to hear the Holy Voice of God saying, “No Victoria, I never called you that. I never said those things about you. His words are not my words and what he called love, is not at all what real love, what my love, is like. My love will always choose you. My love will always name you Beloved.”
So, this past week as I sat among my Squad in the sweet relief of air conditioning during the third night of Training Camp, and our speaker began talking about forgiveness, the Holy Spirit gave me a nudge and I knew we were about to take care of some long overdue business.
The thing is though, I thought I’d already forgiven this man for the pain he inflicted – I’ve said the prayers more times than I can count. I’ve processed this moment with trusted people in my life. But as I listened to Deon talk about the power unforgiveness can hold in our lives I knew I hadn’t let it all go. I hadn’t forgiven this man in full. I was still walking in the shame he shot at me years ago.
You see, one of the reasons God calls us to live from a place of forgiveness is because God knows the destructive hold unforgiveness can claim over us. Extending forgiveness doesn’t mean we’re saying what happened is okay, it means we’re moving forward. When we withhold forgiveness from others our own hearts harden. Withholding forgiveness doesn’t hurt the other person as much as it wraps us up in our own chains, keeping us from the freedom found in knowing we can forgive because we too, have been forgiven.
Hanging onto my unforgiveness made it difficult to receive the love of others. Because of the hurt I still held so close, it was easier for me to keep you at arm’s length, not let you get too close. I would rather push you away first, before you could reject me and confirm that man’s harsh lies – that I am not lovable, that I am somehow worth-less.
Both forgiveness and unforgiveness will shape our hearts and tint our outlook on life.
Unforgiveness leads us into anxiety, fear, anger, resentment. There is no freedom in unforgiveness, only bondage. But when we live a life in line with the forgiveness of the Gospel, we enter into peace. Forgiveness paves a way to freedom.
And I want freedom.
Deon, in his charming South African accent, closed his message with a call to action. If anyone in the room knew there was someone they needed to forgive in order to move forward in freedom, he asked they stand up and find a leader to pray with. We could look that leader in the eyes as if they were the person we were forgiving, saying anything we needed to say. We could simply pray with them, or ask them to pray over us – whatever we had to do to leave the pit of unforgiveness.
The band began to play softly, and with a stubborn reluctance I left my chair heading towards our Squad Leader, Anna. I shared my story and told her through tears I just needed to pray, out loud, and release this man from the space I’d let him take up in my life for too long. I didn’t want to carry him or his words with me any longer.
And can I just tell you, there was something permanent and final about that prayer with Anna. Something irreversible about that moment of vulnerable community initiated by the Holy Spirit. I’ve left what was heavy behind, and I’m finding greater freedom as I walk in loving forgiveness – the very heart of the Gospel.
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Maybe as you read this you know there’s someone you need to forgive, maybe you’re searching for freedom, too. I’d encourage you to find someone you trust, share your story, and pray with them – walking forward is easier when we do it together.
“_____________, I forgive you for ________________________________________.
I choose today, to no longer live in reaction to the lies you’ve spoken to me. ____________, I release you from the prison of my unforgiveness. Even as I have been forgiven, so also in Jesus’ name, I forgive you.”
