10 Great Reasons to Forgive

I took my mom to the bank drive thru the other day. I think these mainly still exist for people in my mom’s generation—though having the little canister get sucked up into the tube is pretty cool. The transaction turned out to be very frustrating because the tellers didn’t see something they should have and ended up treating us rather poorly.

My mom was…ticked. She wanted me to get the teller’s name and complain. I told her to take a breath and let it go. We have bigger fish to fry. But it took her a while to get past it. (Actually, I think given the chance, she’d still give the teller an earful.)

I know I can be guilty of the very same kind of misspent energy, and I bet you can admit to the same. While forgiving little slights isn’t too hard, there are times where it’s just easier to steam at the injustice.

And then there are the bigger fish that do indeed need frying. The kinds of hurts that make it even harder to let go and offer forgiveness.

But no matter how big or small the “fish,” we should always strive to forgive, and here are my ten great reasons why…

  1. God commands us to. As a Christian, I have the greatest model of this in Jesus…who offers forgiveness even to the very people who crucified him. What a powerful example of practicing what you preach. Other major religions—Buddhism, Islam, Hinduism, Judaism—also teach forgiveness. With nearly six billion people in the world identifying with a religion, we should be awash in forgiveness.
  1. We need it every day. At least I do—and I’m pretty sure you do, too. So if we need it but choose not to offer it to others who need it, then we need to strap on our hypocrisy hats.

 

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  1. We benefit from offering forgiveness to others. Receiving forgiveness is obviously awesome, but I have had some significant experiences in my life of offering forgiveness, and the healing that comes from it—both spiritually and emotionally—is powerful and freeing.
  1. We lose negative and gain positive energy. Not only is the impact of forgiveness spiritual and emotional, but it can be physical, too. There are times when I have forgiven someone and felt an immediate physical change—as though weighty scales have fallen off of me and tangibly lightened my being. These times have served to remind me how damaging it is to hold onto negative energy. Positive rocks. Negative sucks.

 

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  1. It helps others. We know how amazing it feels to be forgiven. The grace and mercy that comes our way is transformative. Why wouldn’t we want to facilitate that amazingness for others? Share the wealth.
  1. In withholding forgiveness, we can suffer more than the one whom we believe needs it. Sometimes the hurt you’re feeling may not even be on the other person’s radar. One-sided pain is just that: one-sided. Granted, these kinds of offenses are usually on the smaller side—feeling angry at a driver who cut you off or maybe feeling snubbed by someone—but they still result in negative energy that attacks your spirit.

     
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  1. Because we can. In many walks of life the cliché “just because you can doesn’t mean you should” rings true. Not here. We have a choice to forgive. What a powerful privilege. See numbers 1-6 and 8-10 for why we should make that choice. 
  1. It’s hard. We need to do the tough stuff. Facing something very painful and working through it to get to forgiveness takes effort and strength and courage. All good things to call upon. Grace and mercy aren’t too shabby, either.
     
    (If you’re like me, the absolute hardest person for me to forgive is…me. For some reason, offering forgiveness to others is much easier than letting myself off the hook. I think this is where a lot of us really need to up our game.) 

     
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  1. Modeling forgiveness lets others see how it works. Seeing something in action can really be persuasive. I’m not one of those parents who tries to keep all conflict hidden from my kid. To me, that would be a false representation of life. He knows that sometimes people argue—and showing him how people forgive completes the lesson.
     
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  1. It embraces our mutual brokenness in a broken world. We all sin, fall short, disappoint, hurt, mess up…all of us…continually. There’s no getting around it. It is our truth. Knowing that we can both offer forgiveness and be forgiven allows us to persevere and thrive in an imperfect world. Hope can continually bloom under the light of forgiveness.

Of course, this by far isn’t a definitive discourse on the merits of forgiveness, but I hope that you have found a little something here to remind you how key forgiveness is to a healthy life. And if you didn’t and instead feel like this has been a waste of your time, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me!

 

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Only Light Can Do That

Darkness cannot drive out darkness;
only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate;
only love can do that.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
 Strength To Love, 1963

 

The recent deadly attacks in Paris by terrorists against the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo have much of the world on edge. On this Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I can’t help but wonder what the Rev. Dr. King would have to say about it all. Though we have made strides in fulfilling his “dream,” we have a very long way to go.

When I think of Dr. King, I think of his faith, hope, perseverance, love, wisdom, compassion, grace, and peace–and his work for justice and freedom for all.

I don’t believe we can move forward by staying silent, and as a former English teacher, you can bet your sweet bippy that I am not a fan of book banning. Censorship does not make “bad” go away–it just makes it find other ways to come out. And who exactly has the final word on what “bad” is anyway? To this day, books like To Kill a Mockingbird are banned from many schools.

I absolutely loved teaching Mockingbird in major part because of the fact that it offered opportunities for students to discuss some very important issues–discussions that often led to understanding the world and each other a little better. That’s what brings the light.

So on this day, I want to share a post I wrote around a year ago. (It was back when I posted on “Frabjous Friday,” which I no longer do because of time constraints.) Though my story doesn’t directly deal with civil rights, I believe Dr. King would appreciate it because those students felt what it was like to have a voice. And as he said, our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

Thank you, Dr. King.

 

TKAM

 

 

The Day Harper Lee Wrote Back

 

Originally posted January 3, 2014.

 

The idea behind my Frabjous Friday posts is to share something joyful–or at least something that will make you smile. Today’s post was a very joyful moment in my life, and I’d like to share it with you. It happened 17 years ago almost to the day. It’s a little longer than my typical Friday post, but I hope you’ll find it worth your time.

Back when I taught high school English, my freshman class read To Kill a Mockingbird as one of our core novels. I loved that book as a student, and I treasured it as a teacher. So many layers to explore and think about all delivered in a wonderfully descriptive and even suspenseful way. There was no greater joy for me as a teacher than to see a student come alive within the pages of a book, and Ms. Lee’s one and only published novel kindled that time and again.

One of the activities that we did after reading it was to send notes to Harper Lee. The first time I did this and told the kids we were really going to send the letters, they were stunned. Really? In junior high they did the activity frequently, and it was just for “pretend,” as they called it. I told them why wouldn’t we send them when she is still around to receive them? This made them take their own words a little more seriously. A real author–one whose work many had grown to care for–would be reading it, after all!

I showed them all how I put their letters into a big manila envelope and addressed it to “Harper Lee, Monroeville, Alabama” with the proper zip code. Since Harper Lee was a recluse, this was the best I could do. I figured the town knew her whereabouts.

The first year’s letter writing experience had been positive enough that I did it again the next year, with much the same response from the students. As a teacher, it was satisfying to know that the kids realized their words were being delivered. It mattered.

I just didn’t know it mattered to Ms. Lee, too.

One day, a few weeks after the second batch of letters had been sent, I went to my teacher’s mailbox. Inside was an envelope the size of a thank you card, and I could see that the return address had “Monroeville, AL” written on it. My hands started to tremble. Was it possible that one of the nation’s great authors had written back to us?

Why, yes. Yes she did.

 

Harper

 

I couldn’t believe it. How kind she was to let my students (and me!) know that she had read every letter with “great care and enjoyment.” My students were giddy with excitement–and it’s not often you see 14-year-olds giddy about anything. It was a tremendous validation for them–and for me as an educator. Words matter. Thought matters. Kindness matters.

I hope my former students think back on that experience with joy. I know I do. Ms. Lee’s letter still graces my office and makes me smile every time I see it.

17 years ago Harper Lee wished me and my students a Happy New Year. How cool is that?

Happy New Year to all of you, too!

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view–until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” ~Atticus Finch

 

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2015: Time to Sally Forth

What is it with a new year? I mean, it’s merely a way of marking time…there is no literal change going on, except perhaps the hanging of a new calendar. Yet it matters, doesn’t it? For some reason, there is a sense of new beginnings…a new chapter…a clean slate…a chance to change the lackadaisical flow of things or corral the madness of the overwhelm of life.

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get started.

I know a lot of people who like to hang onto their Christmas decorations for as long as possible. Me? As far as I’m concerned, they can come down on the 26th. Well…I’m not quite that brutal, but I am definitely eager to pack them up around the New Year. I like to get it over and done with so that I can face the 2-3 bleak months of Chicago weather without holiday clutter. Well, that’s not exactly it—I’m just ready to move on.

And I am so ready to move on from 2014 (and ’13, for that matter).

 

life's journey_1

 

Last year was the first time I chose a word for the year as a kind of theme to guide my heart. I chose the word ripples because I felt a strong connection to understanding the way life and the choices we make ripple out into the world and impact other people. As it turned out, my word choice resonated throughout the year in spectacular fashion—in both good and bad ways. In ways I hoped for and in ways I didn’t know were coming. Diplomatically speaking, 2014 was a challenging year. And I’m not too sorry to say goodbye to it. In fact, I am currently handing 2014 its hat and showing it to the door. Adios, asshole. (Oops. Did I just type that out loud? It appears that I might have.)

My word for 2015 popped into my heart without invitation. It just showed up and makes complete sense. 2015’s word for me is journey. (And I don’t mean the band. Though their song titles of “Don’t Stop Believin’” and “Open Arms” certainly work with my intended meaning.)

 

life's journey_4

 

I used to read this comic strip years ago called Sally Forth. It was about a woman and her family’s daily life. I liked the reality of it, and I also liked the play on her name—to sally forth means to energetically set out on a mission or adventure—and for Sally, her life was the adventure. To me, the phrase is similar to raising a fist and crying “Onward!” when what you are looking at is an uphill journey.

 

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The journey my heart calls me to is both professional and personal. I have a lot of ground to cover. So far, it has indeed been uphill, but I am rallying my internal troops to make the climb. From the time I was a little kid, I’ve always loved the song “Put One Foot in Front of the Other” from Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town—it’s a great way of reminding us that getting started only takes one step. And then another. And another.

And I am working on taking my next right steps to make the journey of 2015 (and beyond!) a meaningful and fulfilling one. I’ve got my metaphorical hiking boots on, and I’m ready to sally forth!

How about you? Are you finding that you, too, are on a pivotal journey? Or ready to begin one? Or ready to start thinking about being ready to begin one? Well, at some point, we’ve just got to get that foot ready to put itself in front of the other. If I can do it, you can do it. And if there is a stumble on the journey, I know from all of my past trips and falls that I will get back up (maybe catch my breath) and get my feet moving again…and you will, too. We have to…because the alternative sucks. Staying down and licking any wounds means you remain right where you fell…which probably isn’t that good of a place to hang out.

 

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So journey with me. Not alongside me because we are probably on different paths—but sallying forth to our next life adventure.

I’m so ready for it that I just want to say to 2015…

“Let’s get it on…”

 

 

May your New Year be a blessed one—and may the journey that you walk be filled with grace, joy, kindness, compassion, and love.

Happy New Year!

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Perhaps It’s Right in Front of You

A friend recently shared in a Facebook status how she had been looking for her glasses for a good ten minutes before realizing they were on her face. I smiled at the thought and remembered the time my mom couldn’t find her glasses and my dad was helping her look for them—and all the while he was unknowingly wearing her glasses instead of his own. I walked into the scene wondering what they were looking for, and as my mom explained and my dad turned and looked at me, I offered, “Uh…Dad…you’re wearing Mom’s glasses…”

Of course, I found it extremely amusing.* Not only were my mom’s frames pretty different from my dad’s, but her prescription was way heavier than his. I wondered what he must have been thinking through the blur. Perhaps he just chalked it up to a lack of sleep or a rough morning. Whatever the case, he didn’t see that he had the answer right in front of him.

Last week I wrote about listening for God’s whisper, and it reminded me of an analogy that came to me long ago for how God can reveal himself to us.

Think about water.

 

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Scientifically, water presents itself in the three very different forms of solid, liquid, and gas…but this blog isn’t known for its scientific ponderings, now is it? (Not to say this blog is known for anything. It just for sure isn’t known for its science.)

Let’s be a bit more figurative.

You’ve got rain, snow, a babbling brook, blocks of ice, the drip of a faucet, or the crashing of a wave. There is the steam of a hot summer day or the pounding of a waterfall. Water is an amazing creation that manifests itself in numerous ways.

Perhaps God comes to us in such forms, too (though since he’s God and all, his ways are infinite and so much more awesome (literally) than my analogy).

For me, as I bet for you, too, God does indeed show up in various ways. Sometimes in order for him to get my attention, he has to hammer at me in relentless, all-encompassing waves. These God waves are hard to ignore. Just like a real wave, you could get knocked over and even pulled under. (For these last couple years, it kind of feels like this is his go-to form for me. Good thing he offers a Life preserver.)

 

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At other times, there is the diminutive drip of a faucet that offers a steady rhythm that can either be so subtle I miss it…or it drives me crazy in its faint constancy. I think of this way as the little Voice that speaks in the background of my mind. It’s not my little voice, who often needs a kick in the pants, but The Voice (no, not the TV show) that offers me soft reminders of the Way I should be going.

I’ve been blessed to see a few waterfalls in my life, including Niagara Falls. The power is astounding. Even watching from afar, the mist generated from the might of the falls can leave you drenched. There is strength and majesty that cannot be denied. If you, like me, have ever been silly enough to try to stand under a waterfall (not Niagara—I’m not that stupid), depending on the size of the fall, it can feel like a needle-like pelting or a beat down deluxe. (Yes, I’ve done it more than once. I am that stupid. And it’s a safe bet I’ll do it again, given the chance.) No, in the waterfall comparison, it’s not being under the falls that God shows up but the ability to see his glory from afar and remember how beautiful it all is.

 

Kathleen's rainbow

 

I could go on about how rain and snow and steam can each be metaphors for the way God can come to us, but…I think you get the idea. Water shows up in many different ways, and so does God.

 

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Sometimes he is subtle and sometimes not so much. No matter which way it is, though, it IS. And for me, I need to keep my eyes open and understand that the way I think he should reveal himself isn’t necessarily the way he will.

Just like my dad looked all around for my mom’s glasses not realizing 1. he had them on, and 2. his vision was incredibly blurry, I too often miss the answer right in front of me and ignore the signs that are trying to point that out to me.

Thankfully, God is able to meet me where I am and come to me in the way I need…even if my vision is so blurry I don’t know what I’m looking for.

 

*For those of you who know my ridiculous fondness for a certain joke, please know it took a huge amount of restraint for me not to tell my dad he had made a spectacle of himself.

 

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10 Things I’m Thankful for Every Day

With Thanksgiving this Thursday, I thought it would be a good time to reflect on those very things for which I am thankful…and maybe you are, too. Continue reading “10 Things I’m Thankful for Every Day” →

The Rhythm of Days

This past week began with a baptism and celebration of a friend’s baby and ended with a funeral for another friend. From one end of the spectrum to another…and it reminded me of both the beauty and pain of life.

When my son was a baby, a friend gave me the children’s book Let Me Hold You Longer by Karen Kingsbury. It’s a beautifully sweet picture book that reminds parents to not only enjoy the “firsts” of their little ones, but also the “lasts,” too. I could never (still can’t) get through it without tears. “Mom, why are you crying? Is something wrong?” my little man would ask as he looked up at me with big eyes, wondering why the tears were welling as I read to him. Through my sniffles, I would reassure him that all was well…but I could already feel the time slipping away.

 

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And that is indeed life. We have certain things in our lives that happen to a rhythm, but then one day the rhythm changes, and what was routine is no longer. Aware of this, I really do strive to be mindful of “lasts” with my son. Like when he grew to the age where carrying him was getting harder and harder, it would flash across my mind, “Could this be the last time?” I didn’t want to take anything for granted; I wanted to tuck the memory away in my heart for safekeeping.

But even with that mindfulness, there is no way to know the lasts for most things. I didn’t know the last time my son would snuggle on my lap and really fit my lap. Or the last time he would say “brefkist” instead of “breakfast.” And I doubt I’ll know the last time he willingly holds my hand as a boy—though there will most likely come the day he will hold my hand as a man in order to make sure his old mom doesn’t fall.

Even though I know the lasts are coming, I simply don’t know when in order to be able to savor them in the moment.

Sometimes I recognize the lasts in hindsight. Having lost my dad at a relatively young age, I still sometimes reflect on the “lasts” of my time with him. The “lasts” I didn’t know were lasts until he was gone. Especially while looking at old photos, I find myself noting, “That was the last vacation we ever took,” or “this was the last birthday he celebrated…”

I wonder what would have changed if I knew it was a “last” for us? Certainly Kingsbury’s book title reflects the answer. Knowing would be so very bittersweet.

My heart hurts for my friend whose husband’s funeral I just attended. She had no idea of the lasts that she was experiencing. There was a familiar rhythm to life, and then, in an instant…he was gone. The “lasts” had been recorded without warning.

And now, along with the “lasts” she may eventually come to know, she will embark on a whole new journey of “firsts.” While many of the “firsts” are painful—like first holidays celebrated or returning to a favorite place filled with memories—the day will come when some firsts will offer the hope of better days, and new life rhythms will be created. The “lasts” are final, but the “firsts” can just keep coming. Thank God for that.

In the end, the firsts and lasts of life are only part of the story. Important parts—but not the only parts. They help us mark times of growth or change, but if they escape us, life goes on. The rest is the InBetween.

And so, for me, I must continually strive to be present for the InBetween, aware of the fragility of it all but savoring the beauty of it as best I can…Listening for the rhythms of life and dancing to the beat of each day’s song.

 

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