Forgiving on a Sliding Scale

I have a new hero.  Her name is Eva Mozes Kor.  Her family of six was sent to Auschwitz during WWII.  Her mother, father and two older sisters all died in the camp.  Eva and her sister Miriam survived because they were twins, and Dr. Josef Mengele needed twins for his genetic experiments.  At 6 years of age the girls were subjected to horrific torture in the name of science.  The man known as the Angel of Death visited her daily, but failed to kill her body or spirit. 

As I watched a documentary about her life, I was struck by her ability to eventually forgive those who tortured her, even Dr. Mengele.  One statement summed up her entire outlook: "There is a lot more to my life than Auschwitz. I don't think about it every day, but it has changed my life forever." 

My own life has been fraught with pain and trauma, most of which I kept locked inside for almost 40 years.  Like Eva, there is a lot more to my life than my past traumas, but they definitely changed my life forever.  And although my experiences pale in comparison to hers and those who survived the Holocaust, genocides, wars and various other forms of torture throughout the centuries, I've struggled to forgive the people who stripped me of my innocence, of my ability to enjoy a carefree childhood, of who I could have been.

forgive [fəˈgɪv]

vb -gives, -giving, -gave, -given
1. to cease to blame or hold resentment against (someone or something)
2. to grant pardon for (a mistake, wrongdoing, etc.)
3. (tr) to free or pardon (someone) from penalty
4. (tr) to free from the obligation of (a debt, payment, etc.)

I am capable of comprehending the various definitions, but I still find myself wondering.... What does forgiveness really encompass and how do I apply it to my life?  How do I protect myself while forgiving those who have wronged me? How do I forgive those who don't want my forgiveness, or those who aren't even sorry? How do I forgive the criminals when I cannot forget the crimes? How do I stop resenting someone from wounding me without denying the existence of the wound? Can I ever trust someone again after being betrayed or hurt? The only answer I have right now is: I don't know.

Oh, I find it easy to forgive minor hurts and insults. Who cares if someone cut me off in traffic, gossiped about me, spoke harshly or generally slighted me? I have an abundance of grace in those instances. But cut me just a little deeper and suddenly I'm doling out forgiveness on a sliding scale.  The deeper the pain the less forgiveness I can muster. 

One of the most practical definitions I've heard is this: forgiveness is giving up my right to hurt you for hurting me.  I'm not there yet.  There is only one person I know who completely understands all of what forgiveness entails.  He knew that forgiveness is active and painful, but he faced it head on because he loved whom he loved (me) more than he hated what he hated (my sin): Jesus Christ, the most holy Son of God is my ultimate hero. Oh how I wish I were willing to love my offenders more than I hate what they did to me. Not just because I want to walk in obedience, but because I want to be filled with grace and mercy for my fellow travelers. I am finding that the road to forgiveness is paved with stones of humility. I must first recognize my own ability to wound and devastate others and seek forgiveness from Christ before I can offer it in return.  Only then can I forgive without reservation.

I know that I will always bear the scars of my wounds, just as Christ did, just as Eva Mozes Kor does, but I pray that those scars will not stop me from sincerely loving and pouring myself out to others. There are those who choose to live as victims forever, who stay in their own private Auschwitz, never finding freedom, peace and joy. They rot from the inside out, full of resentment and anger.  And then there is someone like Mrs. Kor who realized that physical freedom from the Nazis did not bring her freedom from the pain, she only found that when she forgave her tormentors.  

Obviously I have a long way to go in my understanding of forgiveness, grace and mercy.  I don't know much, but I do know a few things:

• Forgiveness is a process - it took Mrs. Kor 50 years!
• Forgiveness is not a denial of the truth
• Forgiveness does not erase the past
• Forgiveness does not deny or belittle the traumas we endure
• Forgiveness does not mean the offenders escape justice

Hopefully as I continue my pursuit of truth, God will grant me the ability to freely offer the same forgiveness I have been given. 

One Strand of Lights

There's always at least one Clark Griswold moment in my holiday decorating. Usually it occurs when one strand of annoying Christmas lights refuses to twinkle after being strung on the tree. All of that time and effort to carefully wrap the lights in between the branches, all of the anticipation of a beautifully lit tree and.......nothing. CLARK!!!!!!

This year began with a ginormous strand of broken lights in my life.  I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that things were messy and painful.  The darkness of that one little strand of lights began to eclipse the light of all of the others.  I was drowning in grief from hidden sorrow.  The unspoken story of my life haunted me and a deep fear that I would not find my way back to a fully lit life consumed me.   My faith suffered, my health took a nose-dive and I was worried that I would lose my job.  I was barely functioning.

I tried desperately to fix those tiny, broken pieces of glass, but I couldn't do it.  For a long time I wallowed in the depressing darkness.  But then I was reminded that light was living and breathing in me and would eventually triumph over the blackness.

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."

This year when I put up my tree there was one pesky strand of lights that promptly quit working.  At first I focused all of my energy on making them twinkle, but then I gave up.  I sat and stared at my tree in disappointment.  I was focused on the unlit strand and what it represented to me when I finally noticed the other lights.  Their brightness was contagious and eventually I no longer focused on the darkness. 

Those little shimmering lights became symbols for me: of deeper faith, comforting hugs, intimate friendships, a family's laughter, my dog's snuggle, Maya's smile, life.  The list is unending.  Yes, there will always be broken lights, shards of darkness that try to steal the light, horrible memories, atrocities, deception, betrayal.  I refuse to ignore them any longer, I will acknowledge how they shape(d) me and choose to learn from them instead of fearing them.  The light Who lives in me will illuminate my path and overcome the darkness from the broken strand of lights. 

May the broken strands in your life intertwine with the light of Christ's life and unending, redeeming love.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Deep In The Heart Of Texas

It has been a long time since I retreated. Almost two years since I took the time to drive away from the distractions of city life and into the wide open spaces and gentle rolling hills of the Texas Hill Country. This weekend found me unwinding with each passing mile as I made my way to Laity Lodge, an amazingly sacred retreat center nestled deep in the heart of Texas.

In a way I was driving into my past. Transportedto my teenage years when I spent many hours on an old blue and white church bus, looking at the same scenery as we lumbered up the hill to the run down Baptist youth camp. It was old and dusty with the Frio River slicing through the winding, wooded paths. Alto Frio was its name, and a rather strange one if you think about it. For the uninitiated, frio means cold, or very cold in Spanish, but alto is most commonly associated with halt, although a quick google search reveals that it also means tall or high. I spent many weeks of my youth at that Tall, Cold River Camp.

So many cherished memories. Long nights in the bunkhouse with giggling girls; choking down terrible food in the mess hall and making sure I NEVER put my elbows on the table; kicking rocks and holding hands with a cute new guy because PDAs were strictly forbidden, and the reason we snuck down to the river (!); pulling pranks at the boys' dorm; silly "Olympics"; small groups; worship in the open meeting hall; and of course, rededicating my life to God at the nightly invitation offered at any Baptist camp worth its salt! Good times, good times all around.

But now I'm older, and those carefree days are long gone, as well as my nights spent in the rundown bunkhouses of Alto Frio (thank God!) I've graduated to a retreat center for grown-ups. A real treasure that serves nourishment for the body and soul in a serene lodge set in a canyon carved in two by the same river I swam in as a kid. As I contrasted the old and new memories this weekend I was stunned at how they intermingled. Hiking to the top of Circle Bluff I remembered how I used to stare at the canyons wondering if any Native Americans remained hidden in the bluffs. I found myself looking for arrowheads on my hike yesterday, something I have done my entire life whenever I'm outside of the confines of asphalt and highways. I also kept an eye out for jumping cactus and rattlesnakes, I find that I'm still allergic to both...

Dipping my toes in the frigid Frio River took me back 25 years to the laughter and splashing and freedom of playing at Alto Frio or Garner State Park. And the stars. Oh my, the stars! I forgot how much I missed them until I stared up into the inky blackness and looked at the twinkling lights as they blinked on and off. I used to imagine that they were diamonds and I'd wonder how they stayed suspended in the universe. If it were possible I would have stared all night just to burn the vision of those heavenly jewels in my eyes forever so that I would never forget the peace I feel when I gaze upon them.

Yet, as much time as I spent remembering, I found that I was also fully alive in the present. As I listened to a wise, impassioned professor teach old truths of the gospel in a new way I was captivated as I considered them from the context of my personal history. It was powerful and exciting and deeply satisfying to my soul when nuggets of truth finally burst through the soil of my heart, soil that has been tilled for 26 years. And later in the night as I lounged by a warm and cozy fire, snuggled up in a borrowed coat, listening to a beautiful poem, I was astounded as I contemplated the words of "Alive Together" and realized that God created me to be in that very place, at that very moment. I nearly wept as that truth took root in my heart, and I finally just rested in the experience of living. I'm pretty sure a few stars even winked at me as I walked into the quiet stillness of the night and gazed upon them while peace flooded my soul.

Today as I took communion the mystery of my faith was profound as I looked out the picture window to the canyon and river below, and marveled that the Creator of such beauty died so that I might know him. How grateful I am to have once again spent a precious few hours, deep in the heart of Texas, retreating from the works of man. I will spend my upcoming nights in the city remembering the handiwork of God, and waiting with bated breath for my next retreat into a diamond-studded, Texas night.

Nervous In The Light Of Dawn

This is my favorite song of late. Other than the hauntingly beautiful music and angelic voice of Leigh Nash, it perfectly captures my mood. It's on repeat in my CD player. Amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDtmKBCOaso (ignore the cheesy video, just listen to the song.)

"Nervous In The Light Of Dawn"

Dreamed I was in a desert, without any luck
Storm gray clouds, hovering above
Silence all around me, I was wandering alone
And I realized, there is nothing, anyone can really own

And I wished for guidance, and I wished for peace
I could see the lightning, somewhere in the east
And I wished for affection, and I wished for calm
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn

It's hard to change, and it's hard to move
It takes years for rough, to be made smooth
You can use up all of your precious energy
To be tossed like a shell, from the hungry sea

And I wished for guidance, and I wished for peace
I could see the lightning, somewhere in the east
And I wished for affection, and I wished for calm
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn

Hold me, in your arms, until I fall asleep
I'm so tired....
Hold me...

And I wished for guidance, and I wished for peace
I could see the lightning, somewhere in the east
And I wished for affection, and I wished for calm
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn
As I lay there
Nervous in the light of dawn

Nostalgia

Nostalgia is one of the bittersweet by-products of getting older. Reminiscing about the years gone by; looking back at who I used to be; seeing who I am today; looking forward to who I have yet to become. Sometimes there are tears as I confront the dying dreams of my youth. But usually I find serenity when I start digging in their rubble, because despite pain and disappointment, my life is good, and full, and happy. And for that, I'm grateful.

Last weekend was full of nostalgic digging for me. I felt like I was stuck in a time warp as I was transported to my youth during a reunion concert of one of my favorite artists. Granted, most of the concert-goers were, ahem, "aging", some more gracefully than others, and no one really stood or danced for long, (at least not like they did 20 years ago!) Yet, it was still fun watching the band, swaying to the rhythm, listening (and singing!) every word to songs I've known for 20-25 years. Remembering what they meant to me when most of my life was still stretched out before me. Knowing what they mean now as I approach the middle of my life. Wondering what they will mean when I'm old and gray and spend more of my time remembering than doing. Those 3-minute melodies formed the soundtrack of my youth and they always transport me back in time.

As the last strains of that soundtrack faded I traveled on to Tulsa to attend the wedding of my nephew, a man still in the prime of his life. Youthful, handsome, hopeful. It was moving to watch the man I remember as a little boy embrace his glowing bride. To observe my parents as their pride and joy, my brother, watched his own pride and joy enter a new stage of life. I don't think I've ever seen my brother "beam" as he did on that night. To catch a glimpse of nostalgia as it crossed my sister-in-law's face and momentarily clouded her stunning blue eyes with tears. To sit and know the groom's sister, my niece, as an equal, a fully grown, married woman instead of the girl she once was. It was deeply moving and powerful to watch all of these things with the memories of soccer games, dance recitals, graduations and travels swirling around in my head. How has time passed so quickly?

As nostalgic as I sometimes am for the carefree days of my 20s, other than Laurie moving back, I usually don't ever want things to go back to how they used to be. Too many painful wounds that I'd rather leave alone. So, although I allow myself some nostalgia, I'd rather move forward, learn, grow, live and love. Freely. Openly. Vulnerably. Peacefully. And so I am.

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Average

I saw a print ad for Pantene shampoo the other day and I was reminded of their old commercials. Remember the one that featured a glamorous model tossing her thick, glossy, luxurious mane of hair and uttering the phrase, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful"?

I detested that commercial because I was painfully aware that I could never utter those words in good conscience. Maybe they should make a new commercial featuring yours truly. I could toss my less than luxurious, graying hair and utter the phrase, "Don't hate me because I'm average." I guarantee you that women throughout the world would relate because from our hair to our makeup to our clothes many of us spend hours trying to look beautiful, and most of us end up looking, well.....average. Like a friend of mine says, "It takes a lot of work to look this average." Yeah, no kidding. For me it takes at least 30 minutes to put on a face that won't scare the masses!

On a more serious note, that ad got me thinking a lot about physical beauty, especially since seeing it again coincided with my near disastrous makeover. Beauty has often been a double-edged sword for me garnering a lot of unwanted attention, and yet I still wrestle with it because it's very clear to me that I do not fit the "mold" of what a beautiful woman should look like, at least not today! But I'm finally mature enough to grasp that real beauty has very little to do with looking "hot" and much more to do with who I am. How I wish my younger self could have understood that true beauty is mysterious and invites others to stop posing and striving and rest in its presence; it's a soothing and peaceful refuge when life is chaotic and overwhelming. And although it is elusive that's the kind of beauty I want to possess.

So while I believe that it's okay to enhance what remains of my physical beauty, I want it to reflect my inner beauty otherwise it's hollow. Perhaps my nephew has the most balanced perspective. He loves me no matter how I look maybe because he sees how much my heart loves his. But he also appreciates physical beauty and tells me when he thinks I look "cute". One night when he was about 6 we had the following exchange as he was brushing my hair and I was painting my nails.

Zachary: You know Wobin, when I am 40 you're going to be old.

Me: Yes, I know that Zachary, but will you still love me?

Zachary: Yes, with a shrug of his shoulders.

Me: But will you still think I'm beautiful?

Zachary: What? That's silly, you are bootiful.

Me: But will you still think that when I'm old and gray and full of wrinkles?

Zachary: Wobin, that won't matter.

Me (about to get what I deserve): But will you still think that when I'm old and gray and full of wrinkles AND I don't have on any makeup?

Zachary studying my makeup-free face: Hmmm, I'll still love you....but Wobin, the makeup helps!

Indeed.