The line in the sand has been erased.
White flags raised.
The cold war is over.
It was the last night of worship at training camp and praying over me was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever cut out of my life. She prayed blessings and protection, I cried in agreement. When she finished I sobbed the words, “I’m so sorry.” “Me too,” was all that was needed…
I don’t know if two words had been spoken between us in the five years after eighth grade. The summer after college freshman year, she wrote me a facebook message. Humbly asking if we could get coffee, she hated how we’d lost touch for one reason or another and she would like very much to catch up.
I was livid! How could she not remember the horrible seventh grade offenses that happened?! I curtly responded with something along the lines of, “no thanks… I’m really happy in life and it seems you are too. Let’s just keep it that way.”
Another five years passed.
I was three months into my World Race commitment and was notified of an instagram comment… she was going on the world race too. Two different routes, same launch date, same calling… How could this happen?
There was no anger in me… just ten years of bitterness and a cold heart.
This was supposed to be my race.
Counseling Mondays continued, and as I began preparing my heart for the race it became evident that nothing about the race was mine. I began praying… not specifically for her, but for my bitterness and my hurts.
Slowly, more slowly than I like to admit actually… I had enough peace and courage to contact her. I asked if we could get coffee and talk about the race, she agreed.
Maybe I speak for myself, but my heart was pounding… We sat across from one another sharing our, “what got me heres…” along with our fears and other pre-race emotions. I avoided any topic of conversation pre-2012…how could I possibly justify my anger and cruelty in response to hurt?
Coffee night ended. Training camp preparation continued. My heart breaking a little more each week, being put back together each time with more tenderness. By the time I arrived in Georgia, she was my most anticipated hello.
She was the only familiar face in a field of tents, squad colors, and fire pits. With only joy, I anticipated session breaks to ask her heart’s emotion towards them, we hugged and offered words of encouragement when it all seemed too much.
What happened at camp was through no strength of my own; but rather, a breaking of heart and redemption of friendship with the glory given to Christ alone. The words, “I’m sorry” were spoken from a place of vulnerability and accepted by a laying down of pride.
Training camp taught me about forgiveness…Jenny taught me about forgiveness. The race would be impossible without constant practice of this gift and I cannot stomach the idea of beginning my race’s story any other way than forgiven.
To Jenny, with love… Thank you
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The above was published with Jenny’s permission. She is truly one of the most beautiful, funny, brave women I have ever met. I know the race, although different routes, will continue to bring healing to our friendship and strengthen us in ways we could never anticipate. You can support her race by clicking here, or subscribe to her blog here.
