Reflecting on forgiveness, don’t forget to forgive yourself, OKC author says
Here is a meaningful devotional written by Carolyn Wall, my friend and writing teacher.
She is a successful author of novels like “Sweeping Up Glass.” Her short stories, articles and photographs have appeared in more than 100 publications. A full-time freelance writer and lecturer on university campuses and in conference centers across the country, Carolyn also conducts writing workshops.
As an artist-in-residence for the Oklahoma Arts Council, she taught creative writing to about 4,000 children in Oklahoma. I’m proud to be one of her grown-up students. Here are some of her reflective thoughts:
Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you (Ephesians 4:32) — But what about forgiving myself ?
It seems, once again, that I am in need. And fair warning: I feel a great gaggle of metaphors coming on.
We can all agree that life can be crashing and crushing and unruly beyond reason. The true “who I am” often gets lost in the shuffle. That’s why I keep journals — so I can haul one out, find a matching page from the last time
I trespassed against myself, and treat myself to some Forgiveness Truths.
I absolve myself regularly — for overloading, and overlording, and saying downright dumb things. While I hope friends and family can accept my flaws, not everyone will. It would be easy to whisper back “that's OK,” but my skin simply is not thick enough.
When I realize that I am responsible for most of the intensity, the insanity, the heat rash of my life, there is help. I have written this on a sticky note: there is nothing in my mind that I didn't invite in. That's not an invitation to judge. It's meant only to be an observation.
First, I must call each problem by name.
After years of floundering, I keep a list of possibilities so I can check off whatever I might be blaming myself for.
In order to do this, it takes stepping back and watching my self as I groan under the weight of burdens that might not even be mine to carry. On the other hand, some are definitely my responsibility, and will take some outer work. Meanwhile, on the inside, what's going on? For me, what I'm feeling must be called by name.
● Who stretched me too far, too thin, for too long?
● I haven't made quiet time since 1983. Who's at fault?
● Something made me unbearably sad, and I'm comfortable in my sadness.
● I'm angry and I have a right to be — even though it makes me sick in mind, spirit and body.
● I regret what I did, and I don't want to let that misery go.
I spend a lot of time harboring these kinds of things, brandishing them, polishing them and wearing them on my sleeve.
We have learned, since childhood, that we need to “say sorry.” And, according to society, the recipient of “sorry” is duty-bound to murmur “That's OK.” However, when I apply this to myself, I discover that the mumbled word “sorry” is not enough. Instead, I have to say, “I did this to you, and I'm truly sorry.”
Only then can I start to put real myself together, begin to remember who I am.
We have also been instructed to forgive our neighbors. But how can I forgive my neighbor if I don't combine that with forgiving myself ? When God forgives me over and over, how arrogant if I refuse myself the same.
Forgiveness, however, is a funny thing; if the wound is large, once may not be enough.
The weeds of blame and shame love to perform reruns. To employ even more metaphors, they slip in through the cracks in the garden wall, multiply and choke out the flowers. The real things that I am — lanky phlox, stubby petunias, restful patches of ferny shade — are not lost, they're just covered up. Mostly by me. And that means I have weeding to do.
Don't think for a moment that I'm in control of all this. Sometimes I work on it, sometimes I don't. But I love those moments when I can step aside, look at myself and say, “Gosh, I'm sorry I did this to you.”
In the matter of journaling, when I am done with a day's entry, I note the theme of that writing at the top of the page — “self-forgiveness,” “loss,” “anger,” or “gratitude.” Then, when I need consolation, that quick note at the top makes a matching journal entry easier to find.
As for my wicked overuse of metaphors, I could ask forgiveness — but don't think I will.