The gift of forgiveness came at a price, however. There was suffering involved. Jesus was scorned, ridiculed, and ultimately crucified. He was murdered in punishment for his divinity and the life he offered. He went through the ultimate pain and humiliation to offer such a gift of forgiveness. I remember a professor in one of my Bible classes in college giving such a beautiful lecture about the simplicity of the story, and the absurdity. Her conclusion rested in just how appropriate the absurdity was, and carried the idea that the only thing strong enough to answer the problem of humanity is the extreme story of Jesus' sacrifice, and the needed forgiveness that followed.
That was my first weighty introduction to the idea.
There was also an incident involving a candle holder, and my mother. Back in the late nineties, those massive candles with three wicks were a must for a woman's home decor. You could get them most anywhere, including candle parties that rocked the nation. These parties remain a phenomenon to me. There's a magazine offering something cute that you can purchase. The host gets special gifts for offering her home as a place to sell, and then those that attend choose things out of the magazine, pointing and looking and deciding, ooo-ing and awe-ing, followed by the writing of a check. A few weeks later, your order arrives in the mail.
My mother isn't one of requirement and she rarely purchases much of anything for herself. She's always giving back to everyone; her kids, her animals, her community. She had been burning one of those three wicked candles for a while, and it rested on a table in her living room, burning down atop an unassuming plate, and at other times, nothing at all, stray wax streaming onto the table like pink lava. After attending a candle party, she gave herself the grace to order the round crystal candle holder to set appropriately beneath the half burned aromatic circular piece of wax.
These were the days before ebay and online orders, so receiving a purchase in the mail carried an even weightier allure. I knew it was coming, as she told me she had ordered it. We looked for it in the mail each day, sighing a little in disappointment each day the little brown box remained absent. I remember the evening it came. She brought the box into the house with her, excited to have a little tiny something she had been wanting for quite a while. I asked if I could open it, and she obliged. She sat on the couch and watched me open the box, take out our little treasure, drop it from my hands, fall to the floor, and break into tiny non-glue-able pieces.
And then she reacted as one who watched something they had been wanting for a while fall onto the floor into pieces; She got really upset. It's a weighty progression. You see something in front of you that you've been wanting for quite some time, you get the chance to hold it in your hands and see it up close, and then, all of a sudden, it becomes completely unattainable and moves from the category of found to that of lost, just like that. It's really frustrating, especially when you're already stressed from other life things, and I was the culprit. I was careless with something that meant something to her. I should have been more careful with something so fragile.
Basically, I felt really bad. I think I may have cried. I wanted my mom to have something for herself maybe as much as she. And then, after a bit, she told me not to worry, "sis". It's just material. It can be replaced.
This is one of the things I most appreciate about my mom. This material thing, and it's ability to be replaced? She really believes it. And she had always instilled that into her children. It's just a "thing", and though things can be fun or good, they aren't as important as the people in your life, and they can always be replaced. So when she told me not the worry, "that it's just a thing that can be replaced," I knew she meant it, and with her sincerity, I remember thinking in that moment that I had gotten a taste of this thing called forgiveness.
Up until now, I had yet to lose the things in my life that I hold closest to me. Though I have left the material source where most of my friendships have bloomed, those that are true remain close, even in their absence. Two-thousand and ten marks the first time, however, that I felt the loss, the breaking-into-un-glue-able pieces, of a friendship I cared about. And with that loss came frustration, anger, hurt, and a bit of a grudge. This marked the first time I really felt the weight of how unhealthy these things can be for a person's general well being and ability to care for themselves. And in consequence, after passing through the aforementioned slew of emotions, it marks the first time that I have really felt the weight that's lifted when forgiveness is bestowed. It's as if the bitterness and anger leave a dirty wax-like residue over all parts of life, and the negative feelings permeate all of the good you try to pursue in spite of them. Trying to find the good requires digging, takes so much more work than is necessary, and leaves gunk underneath your fingernails. Fully moving through the detestable, fully letting go and forgiving gets you out of your own way, allowing the heat from the needed sun to melt the layers of wax.
A co-worker said that for him, it was more of a letting go. And that's part of it, plus a little more. What's left for me is a new season, a weightier from-the-gut appreciation for forgiveness, and untainted autumn sunshine.
No comments:
Post a Comment