Forgiveness. Such a beautiful word, but such a difficult thing to give. It is one thing to forgive a thoughtless action or careless word; it is quite another to forgive action that caused serious hurt, harm or death. Above all, it is nearly impossible to forgive pain that you yourself inflicted. How can you forgive yourself?
I was 15, and I was going through a particularly rough patch in my development. I was easily embarrassed, easily offended, put off by anything that seemed to my arrogant little mind as selfish. The prime culprit, in my opinion, was my mother. She seemed to be a constant irritant. She had to be helped out of her chair. She couldn't walk long distances. She told stories of falling and staying there until someone came to pick her up. She seemed overly concerned about her weight. I understood none of this and resented all of it. What I didn't realize was that my mother was desperately ill.
In my defense, I need to explain that my mom, Violet Wood, had been seriously ill since I was 18 months old. She was so often in the hospital that I thought visiting the hospital was normal. I didn't realize the severity of her condition, and I didn't see the gradual decline. I was too young to fully understand. By the time I reached 15, my mother was months away from death. However, the changes weren't visible to me. I saw them as new things for her to complain about, and I resented them.
Reading this, I can't believe how shallow and callous I was. But I'm trying to be as honest as I can, and that was how it was.
Two events stick out in my mind. The first is just a memory. I know I was 14 or 15. It's like a photograph--an event frozen in time. My father, mother and I were going to JC Penney. By this time, Mama couldn't walk for long distances, so for this trip, she was in a wheelchair. I didn't understand, and I was embarrassed. It seemed to me that she was lazy. She could walk (using a walker) in the house, so why wasn't she walking now? I didn't want to be seen with her, and I lagged behind, looking into shop windows and pretending not to be part of the family. Of course, Mama picked up on it right away. She called me on my behavior. Now I wasn't only embarrassed, I was ashamed. I don't recall asking for her forgiveness. I just recall resenting having to share space with her.
The second event is frozen in my mind. It was the morning of September 23. My mother was in the dining room in a chair. Once again, she was going to the hospital. I was in bed, asleep, as was my brother. Her breathing woke me up. It was as if she had a bunch of phlegm caught in her throat. I couldn't stand the sound. I remember being irritated. 'Why doesn't she clear her throat?' I thought. My mother didn't have the strength to go to our rooms. She called out to my brother that she loved him. He responded. Then she called out the same thing to me. I remember groaning to her. I couldn't be bothered to tell her that I loved her. Those were the last words she ever spoke to me. My dad took her to the hospital, and I went back to sleep.
The next day, my brother and I didn't go to school. I don't remember thinking too much about that, but I do remember having lunch when we received the call--your mother is dying, and if you want to see her, you need to come now. We all hurried to the hospital, and for the first time in my life, I was allowed into her room. She was in a coma and unresponsive. I remember going to her side, taking her hand, and saying over and over, "I love you, Mama!" Nothing. At that time, I didn't realize that people in a coma can hear you. All I knew was that I had lost my last chance to let my mother know that I loved her. I became fascinated by the heart monitor. I couldn't stop watching it record my mother's heartbeat. As a result, I saw those beats stop. I saw her die.
For many years--over 30 years--I couldn't forgive myself for the miserable way that I had treated my mother. I was in a strange place--the person that I had offended was dead. There was no going to her and asking forgiveness. I did, of course. I spoke to her as if she was still there and asked her forgiveness. I believe with all my heart that she heard me and forgave me, but how could I forgive myself?
The answer didn't come easily. The unforgiveness that I felt became seated in my heart and turned me cold. It began to distort my personality. I thought of myself as unworthy, unloveable. I built walls between myself and the world--the pain and hurt that I felt was a barrier that walled me in and kept love out. It didn't happen overnight, and it wasn't healed overnight.
I don't remember one specific moment that led to my ability to forgive myself. I think that it was a gradual understanding of an overwhelming truth: God forgave me, and my mother forgave me. Of that I was certain. So in my refusal to forgive myself, I was stating that their forgiveness was incorrect. If they could forgive me, then I had the ability--the responsibility--to forgive myself. I didn't have the power within me to do it, but I had learned obedience, and in that obedience I claimed forgiveness. I forgave myself for the foolish behavior of my youth. The italics show the understanding that came with that forgiveness. As long as I was mired in my own guilt, I couldn't see that. There was no category, there was just self-loathing. But as I forgave myself, my soul began to speak to me the peace that had always been available to me in Christ Jesus. I began to realize that I was judging myself far more harshly than either my mother or my Lord had ever judged me.
Dear friend, what is there in your soul that is waiting to be forgiven? Please look into your heart and see what is behind the hurt that is there. What is keeping you from feeling free to express that loveliness that is you? Is it youthful indiscretion, a life of sin that is still bothering you, although you repented long ago? Are you refusing to forgive yourself for the pain that you caused others? Please, in obedience, grasp the forgiveness that has been given to you and then apply it to yourself. I promise you that it will set your soul free and allow for the healing that you know you need.
Father, I pray for the person who may be reading this right now with tears in their eyes. I pray that as you speak words of love and forgiveness to that person, they understand that your love is always free, always open, and always available. I pray that as they accept this truth, they find the obedience that they need to both accept your forgiveness and then apply it to their own soul. Let them see that the self-forgiveness that they do not feel worthy to claim is the very key that they seek to unlock their hearts and admit the love and peace of Your Holy Spirit. In Jesus' name, Amen.
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