Forgiveness Washes Over Me

I remember the days getting longer when I received acceptance. I found myself moving slower and more intentionally. I was no longer in a hurry to close the blinds, blow out my aromatherapy candle, and simply end the day. I wanted to sit on my little porch with a cup of tea and watch the sun set on a day I deemed well lived. I became more open to stretching my legs outside the rigidity of a routine that felt consistently safe. I wanted to explore new places to eat. New trails to walk down. I remember a very conscious shift to more thoughts on what would be, instead of what never was.

Forgiveness was different.

There were moments that a dear friend or loved one would bring up the previous chapter in a capacity I was not prepared to receive, and I would find myself thrown into an immediate state of raw bitterness. Words that are life-stealing and not life-giving would creep out between my teeth. As quickly as the moment came, it went, because this was not who I wanted to be. A human carrying around a bottle of bitterness.

I was still clinging tight to forgiveness as an option, giving myself permission to feel in control of this incredibly difficult step. As a Christian, I believed it was entirely necessary for my healing. I believe God desires our hearts to forgive, just as He has forgiven us. As a broken human, I had more or less packed up the idea of forgiveness with my old self help books and would save it for another day.

I was visiting a church in my new town when forgiveness inexcusably and undeniably showed up. The pastor stretched his hands wide and asked if there was something we were still carrying that we needed to let go of, to continue growing in our faith with Christ. The light that was on him may has well have been on me in that third from the last row of seats, heart racing as if the entire crowd turned to say, what are you holding onto? My trauma twitch I do with my fingers, a combination of snapping and pulling tightly at my knuckles, started immediately; which was my sign I was both uncomfortable and convicted. Tears started to flow down as I asked God, how can I forgive all that had been taken from me? For all that never existed? For the absolute fool he made of me as a wife?

The pastor went on to share the church mission statement, the scripture verse I had yet to hear them recite in unison. I paused my internal, emotional battle while waiting to see the scripture hit the screen. Ephesians 3:20.

My shoulders dropped and my hands opened, palms facing up on my lap, to a God who I do believe can do immeasurably more than we can ever imagine. I committed to God in that moment that I wanted to continue growing in my faith. I committed to the continued process of allowing God to remove lingering bitterness from my heart, that would otherwise prevent me from honoring this very important step in my healing. And the tears that began as a burning bitter, ended as a joyful release in this moment.

I think of Paul and Silas in prison, with shackles on their feet while singing songs of praise to God (Acts 16:25). Living out their faith, emulating an unwavering example to others, despite their circumstances. I reflect on the practice of speaking words of truth. Not imprisoned by an injustice, but continuously redeemed by grace. And this is how I think of forgiveness. A receiving just as much as a practice. I receive the release of bitterness, by practicing forgiveness.

The practice of forgiveness will be a part of my testimony.

What do I want to echo when I tell my story? When my sweet nieces ask about my marriage one day. My story.

I want to echo the power of surviving.

I want to echo the freedom of forgiveness for a human, a situation, a circumstance that could otherwise leave you debilitated.

So much power rests in that freedom.

Forgiveness, dear partner, like the ocean rushing toward your feet, finding its way between all of your toes and quickly retreating with only your footprints left behind, washes over me. It comes heavy and it leaves light. It is not complete. I am not yet immersed by its fullest capacity or entirety, but it washes me clean.