Forgiveness: A Teenager’s Story

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The Wound

It was a normal school day in fourth hour. Some classmates were joking around, holding their iPads like frisbees. As Lucy bent down to retrieve her backpack, she felt a jab and then saw the blood. An iPad had accidentally been launched from Owen’s* hand, hitting her forehead and cutting through three layers of skin. Almost all the way to her skull.

Have you been surprised by trauma before?
Has your heart been pierced all the way to the core? Deeper than you thought possible?

Lucy found herself in the nurse’s office, full of panic and spilling with tears. She answered some questions and waited for her mom to arrive while her wound hid behind a temporary bandage and ice pack.

Are you doing that, too?
Are you trying to heal your wound with a temporary cure? Trying to numb that pain?

Together, Lucy and her mom raced to the Emergency Room only to wait. Sorting through the internal questions… navigating the tension… wrestling with the “why” — they sat for two hours before being invited into healing. She was terrified, for she knew stitches would be the cure.

Lucy, a seamstress, was no novice to needles. She knew their strength, knew the beauty they could create by piecing something together. She had seen needles penetrate cloth with permanency. And this is what terrified her. She knew the puncture was necessary to create, and in her case, necessary to restore. Pain before wholeness.

“The doctor told me he would have to sew through my skin, layer by layer, and that I’d have a permanent scar on my forehead,” Lucy recalls. “I went home after the stitching and cried and cried. You know how physical beauty is so important in this society? I was so angry.”

You, too? Do you feel like your wounds have tainted your beauty?

The Dialogue
Lucy went back to school the next day which proved to be a mistake. Rumors had already been spread that simply weren’t true: Owen had flung his iPad toward Lucy on purpose…she was suffering from a major concussion…her entire face had been cut open…she was being over-dramatic and nothing serious had happened.

Have people tried to sort through your story?
Have they resorted to lies when they couldn’t quite make sense of your struggle?

Lucy wasn’t prepared for all the questions, either. She wasn’t equipped to give explanations or interpret her feelings for everyone publicly. My goodness, she hadn’t even completely faced her reality in solitude yet. Some would ask to see her wound, ripping away any sense of normalcy for the self-conscious girl.

Despite all the attention, she felt so… alone. “People didn’t make eye contact,” Lucy remembers. “They’d either look away from me or just stare. There was no middle ground.”

To help themselves navigate the awkwardness, some would turn to jokes. They weren’t cruel, but they tried to make light of something very, very real. Lucy faked a lot of laughs to go along. “It was very uncomfortable,” she admits.

The Healing
But the seamstress is also an artist. And she turned to paper and water and color for therapy.

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In something as delicate as a flower, Lucy began to find strength. She discovered her voice and fell into gratitude. “So thankful for how I’ve grown closer to God through this. It could have been a lot worse, and I am eternally grateful to him.”

And as she began to accept her situation, she knew forgiveness and reconciliation were the next steps. Owen had pursued her immediately. He visited her that first day in the school nurse’s office, overflowing with apologies. His friend had come along, too. Trying to comfort her, he shared his own story of receiving stitches once and assured her she would survive.

“He calmed me down and brought me back to reality that day,” Lucy recalls. Freshmen in high school… empathizing… owning a mistake… asking for forgiveness.

While she was engaged in ongoing conversations with Owen and the school counselor, Lucy’s peers were trying to support her. But remember her initial anger? Well, these kids loved their friend and were furious, too. Some publicly declared their rage toward Owen. They wrote hate notes to him and left them in Lucy’s locker, hoping to make her feel better.

“I had made peace with Owen, though,” testifies Lucy. “We weren’t enemies when the accident happened. I had moved on from the wound, but my friends hadn’t moved on. They had good intentions, but their hate notes weren’t supporting me.”

Have you found yourself wanting to heal but needing to comfort your loved ones instead?
Have empathizing friends who meant well kept you from forgiving?

The counselor urged Lucy find her voice again and publicly urge her friends to get over her situation. She wanted to thank everyone for their support but remind them they could lift her up without tearing down Owen. She turned to the canvas again.

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“We all make mistakes.”
“We all need grace, forgiveness, and a chance to start over.”
“Letting go of past hurt changes you.”

And it worked. People stopped sending hate notes, and she continued to forgive Owen. Her story impacted so many, and she recalls the certainty of knowing that many beyond herself were wrestling with God and engaging with Him because of her story. She drank from the cup of closure and was satisfied.

Friends, she’s only fourteen.

The Challenge
On that day in fourth hour, and in the weeks to come, Lucy’s people were reminded how faith and everyday reality do indeed intersect. How quickly we forget. Through the strength of the Healer and Master Artist, Lucy found the courage to forgive, and even reconcile. And an entire community was marked by her courage.

“If you’re reluctant to forgive,” challenges Lucy, “you have to really think about that person… and your relationship with that person. If you’re thinking about retaliating or choosing the “safety” of ignoring, ask yourself, ‘How could God get glory if I took a peaceful resolution?’ ”

So, my friends, what about your wounds?
Is God calling you to more than just surviving?
Is He calling you to restoration?

“He binds their wounds,
heals the sorrows of their hearts.” Psalm 147:3

 “Visualize this: His blood freely flowing down the cross, setting us free! We are forgiven for our sinful ways by the richness of His grace… Be kind and compassionate. Graciously forgive one another just as God has forgiven you through the Anointed, our Liberating King… So imitate God. Follow Him like adored children.” Ephesians 1:7, 4:32, 5:1

*Some names have been changed

photo source | SugarBean Photography

Series on Suffering: Miscarriage & Infertility

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Continuing our Series on Suffering is Jami, a thirty-something who has quite a story to tell. We’re here today with her original interview from 2012. Be sure to come back tomorrow to learn how Jami’s story has unfolded. There’s joy and more suffering and mystery and redemption.

Christan: Thank you, Jami, for your willingness to talk to Repurposed readers. I’m grateful for your openness about such an incredibly painful part of your life. Tell us about your family.

Jami: Thank you for letting me share. My husband, Jim, is a graphic designer, and our son, Tate, is in first grade at the school where I teach. We live in southeastern Kansas and have a great support system.

Christan: You have one child, and you want more.

Jami: Yes, I’d love more. A large family is something I’ve always dreamed about. When Jim and I first started talking about having children, we always planned on having four.  He comes from a sibling set of three, and so do I. We’re both the middle child. It was inevitable that someone was always left out, so we always planned to have an even number.

But I miscarried in 2006. It was the most painful time of my life, but then it just got worse from there. We’ve not been able to get pregnant again. Our son was two, almost three at the time. He’s now seven.

We wanted the baby – that baby. It was so weird being pregnant and happy one day and then not being pregnant the next. Even months later I’d find myself driving to the library or store and think, “I was just pregnant and now I’m not. How is that?” It’s hard to let go of something you held inside of you and wanted so much.  It’s been even harder not being able to get pregnant again. I’ve had to let go of the dream of more children. It feels like many deaths instead of just one. 

Christan: When did you start telling people you had miscarried your second child?  

Jami: As soon as it happened. It was a really rough time for me, and I needed people to know. I tried to go on like everything was okay, but it was hard. People respond in different ways to miscarriage. Some see it as no big deal… like, “Oh, well”. But others acknowledge it and are kind. Many just don’t know or understand what it’s like. It’s a death. I have a friend who miscarried after I did… she told me she wishes she’d been more compassionate to me and admitted she just didn’t understand until she went through it herself.

Christan: How did your son handle it?

Jami:  Tate was so young I think all he knew was that Mommy was unhappy. We still talk about his brother or sister in Heaven. He wishes he had siblings… mostly someone to play with. That aspect has been the hardest for Jim and I. We’ve always wanted Tate to have brothers and sisters. Seeing him alone so much is a constant reminder of what he’s missing out on. It’s even harder to look to the future and see him alone then, too. We love getting together with our siblings over the holidays, and Tate will never have that. It breaks our hearts.

Christan: How did the Church respond?  

Jami:  At the time I was part of a Mommies Group in our church.  I remember going to one of the meetings a few weeks after my miscarriage. No one really said anything. I knew they were aware, but they just kind of avoided the topic and tried to be cheerful. I needed more.  People just don’t know what to do in that situation. When you have a baby, people come over and bring you gifts and food. When you lose a relative, people bring flowers and cry with you. But with miscarriage, I got the impression that people wanted me to move on and get over it quickly. 

Christan: Did anyone walked through the mess with you?

Jami:  My husband walked with me and still does. I have some really great people in my life who still cry with me over the experience. It’s amazing how God works… it’s amazing how He gives me exactly what I need exactly when I need it. He’s brought people into my life at just the right time — people who’ve let me be sad.

Christan: Did you ever feel like it was your fault?

Jami:  Yes, from the beginning. In many ways. The day before I lost the baby we went for a bike ride. I felt like I had over-exerted myself. I know now that’s silly. I also didn’t go to the doctor right away after learning I was pregnant. It was my second baby, and I was determined to be more laid-back than I was during my first pregnancy. I kick myself over and over for that.

I was nervous, too, about my ability to parent two kids. I was tired from chasing a two year-old and wondered if I was capable of still being a good mom with more kids. I thought maybe God heard me and knew I couldn’t handle it. I’ve also thought that I was being punished for choices I made in my past… like God must be mad at me for something or that my faith just wasn’t strong enough. 

Christan: Were you mad at God?

Jami: Oh, yes! Sometimes I still slip back into this anger. He gave. He took away. And then He took more away. I’m infertile. There was a time, though, that I was so angry with Him I didn’t talk to Him for a long time. I went through the motions, so no one knew. I stopped singing to Him in my heart. I’d go to church and just stand there during praise and worship — not singing — with a cold heart. It was really hard to cut that out of my life. It was so second nature for me to start up a conversation with God… I’d find myself doing just that, remember how angry I was, and stop.

Christan: Are you still mad at Him?

Jami:  That’s such a hard question. I hate telling people that I’m still angry sometimes.  This is what it is, you know? I’ve had people tell me that it’s a sin to be angry at God and it’s wrong because His way is perfect, so whatever He does is what should happen. I don’t want it to be His way sometimes. I want it be my way.

It really depends on where I am. I work at a preschool, and half the moms are pregnant. I have to face it every day, and it’s hard. It’s really hard to see everyday what I’m not going to get. I’m more angry when pregnant women are right in front of me.

I know that God loves me, and that He wants the best for me. I have to preach that to myself over and over, and it’s an everyday thing. It’s like a person who deals with alcoholism and wakes up every day going into the world knowing they can’t have what they want. I, too, have to wake up everyday knowing I desperately want another baby, but I can’t.

But God knows we’re human. He made us. I have to pour out my heart to Him about how angry I am with the situation. I ask Him what to do.  When I open up to Him, I do feel peace at times. I also have to let go of myself — wanting to be pregnant took up so much of my life. It’s a very selfish mindset.  t’s been me for so long, wanting it, wanting it, wanting it. I feel like God is saying “no”. I feel like I need to let go of what I want and somehow find contentment in that, but I don’t want to many days. I have to let go of myself and my wants over and over and over everyday. 

Christan: You’ve obviously healed over the years.  How did that happen?

Jami: My family. People listening to me helped. I know that there’s some people I drove crazy by talking about my miscarriage and infertility. There’s others that just listened to me — and still listen to me — for however long I want to talk about it.

I do guard myself sometimes. I stay away from situations where I know I’ll get angry. I don’t go to baby showers. I’ve lost friends, I really have. I hate admitting that because it’s selfish — it’s a very selfish part of me. If a mom comes in who is pregnant or has a new baby, I usually step away.

I’ve prayed. I still pray that God will take the desire to get pregnant away from me. So far, the desire remains. I still hope for this, though. I do feel like just asking this of Him, though, lessens the pain and reminds me to surrender. Reminds me to trust. It’s still really hard.

Christan: Looking back, has God redeemed any of the brokenness?

Jami:  That’s hard to answer. I guess I can see that Jim and I have come closer together.  I’ve learned who I can trust and lean on, and I have a deeper understanding of trusting my Savior. I wish my story was one where I went years and years of not getting pregnant and then all of the sudden I find out I’m pregnant… music swells… we make excited phone calls… we kiss passionately… happily ever after. I know this is not what my Lord has planned. I know infertility was not His original plan for this world, but we all tasted the fruit. We all nailed Him to the tree. This is my part in the brokenness. His suffering is my suffering. For Him I can endure.

My prayer life has changed more from a focus on me and my wants to other people. It seems like for so long I was just praying I would get pregnant and everything else was forgotten. When I finally let go and gave control to God, I could see I was not using my prayer life to its fullest, and my praying changed.

Everyday, though, I wake up and realize I’m infertile and that I’ve lost something. Everyday I have to deal with the anger and make a choice about what I am going to do with it. I’m constantly depending on God for help in this area. Sometimes I am bitter. All the emotions can come and go depending on where I am and what I’m faced with and I make a choice on how I respond.

It’s not always a pretty picture. I’m a sinner and I get ugly. How wonderful that because of Jesus I know that God is looking at me and sees me as pure and beautiful. I’m forgiven for the ugliness in my heart.

Christan: How have you used your suffering to help other women deal with their own infertility and loss?

Jami: I write about infertility, and this has actually helped with my own healing. I’d love to start a support group but that always makes me nervous. Things like that are so important, though. Infertility is a very lonely affliction. 


And so Jami waited as her heart was transformed and her understanding of her Maker and Redeemer matured. I remember times when I knew about others’ pain — miscarriage, a still-born baby, a cancer diagnosis, and on and on and on — and I remained silent. Not wanting to say the wrong thing, I said nothing at all. I grieve now over my cowardliness. I’m embarrassed of my fear of stumbling upon my words and appearing foolish — ashamed of my selfishness. Let us all be inspired even today to love others well.

Join me tomorrow as Jami’s story continues to unfold. You’ll never guess what God’s writing…

 

photo source | milada vigerova

When You’re the One Grumbling

Grumbling

Hurt people hurt people.

We’ve all heard it before — that explanation for another’s behavior — that justification for wound-inflicting words — that “place of acceptance” begging us to extend grace.

I’ve walked the road of forgiveness only to walk it again. Have you gone on the journey twice — or maybe several times — because you can’t quite dwell at the destination? Because your heart’s so restless you can’t rest in that renewed place? Yeah, me too. It’s like we’re all travelers clutching our own bags — our own baggage — back on that same path to letting go.

I’m walking that path right now, but it’s no one’s doing but my own. I’m walking the road toward forgiving myself this time, and gosh, I hate the journey even more. I’ve cried at being the victim, but the shame of being the perpetrator is so heavy it wrenches tears out of me I didn’t know I had.

Don’t be so hard on yourself, my people say. I even whisper it to myself, Hurt people hurt people. It’s just sort of unavoidable.

But we were made for more.

I was hurting, and my pain got the best of me. It dulled me to all things beautiful. And when you can’t find beauty, our souls wrestle in angst, and our mouths just sort of follow. We lose perspective and then mindlessly react. At least I do.

Finally, Peter writes, Finally, all of you, have unity of mind, sympathy, brotherly love, a tender heart, a humble mind.

Peter, the former racist. Peter, the one with a crazy temper. Peter, the wound-giver. The guy you would have wanted to avoid collapsed into grace and started challenging us to live in community.

We stare from afar with our pointing fingers and feel good about ourselves for a moment — until we dare to look and see ourselves in the drama, too.

I’ve chosen to talk when I should have remained silent. I’ve chosen to talk when I should have remained silent. Have your grumbly thoughts ever spilled onto others? You feel relief for a second before you’re carrying the burden again for days. Complaining is exhausting. Grumbling is draining.

Has Satan made his way into your “authenticity”? He weaves himself into my conversations and before I know it, he’s blown everything out of proportion. And yes, I’m trying to be real, but if I don’t watch it, my enemy even distorts that, too.

My fleeting moment of venting wasn’t so fleeting after all. And I find myself worshiping what I complain about.

In these moments, my realness, my transparency, is doing anything but fostering unity and sympathy and love and tenderness and humility. My words hang out there, picked up by whomever is hungry, and then twisted and repackaged and delivered to a whole new audience.

Unity and sympathy and love and tenderness and humility — its all so random. But maybe not.

When we take a risk and dare to heap on sympathy and love, somehow unity is unavoidable. My eyes open up to the big picture, and my quiet rage and unforgiving spirit and grumbly heart don’t seem so useful anymore.

Somehow I can see the forest through the trees again, and my perspective becomes much bigger than my own drama. My grumbling and my complaining, well, I see them for what they really are — tools to help others lose perspective, too.

It’s hard to discipline our minds, to hold fast to the larger perspective, and to be led by humility. But in those moments, I’ve found sympathy and love and tenderness for others in the deepest places of my heart.

Hurt people hurt people.

Yes, I’ve been hurt. And yes, I’ve done the hurting. But by His wounds I am healed, and He heals those I’ve hurt, too.

Thank goodness. Thank goodness for that cross. Mercy.

I may just walk that road toward forgiveness throughout my lifetime. There’s always something to forgive — always. But the longer I journey, the more resting I do. I find crevices of His grace wooing me to linger in His restoration, pausing in His redemption, a little longer each time.

photo by Kevin Lee on Unsplash


This post can also be viewed as a guest post on the blog of Greentree Community Church (St. Louis, Missouri).

How to Stop Building the Wall

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It was a tiny blow to the heart – and I do mean tiny.  I can see it now in hindsight, but not so much then.

I pondered and reflected – too much – causing the offense to grow in my mind until I was overwhelmed in its shadow.  I scorned the injustice of it all, not realizing I was dancing out of reality. 

“Let the first stone be thrown by the one among you who has not sinned.” The words of my Redeemer jolted ancient religious leaders, causing religion to quietly turn away.  But I, I picked up enough stones to hurl them into the form of a wall around my heart, vowing to never let it be broken again.

He took my thoughts and transformed my self-protecting efforts into a looking glass.  Oh, the dreaded mirror into one’s own heart.  And with every wounding comment I relived in my mind, He revealed words from my own silent heart – words no one hears yet boast the same ugliness.

Why does forgiveness feel like a loss of control?

And today – with every grasp toward a stone – He tenderly reminds me I’m holding my own sin.  My Enemy lures me to keep building, but my Maker whispers, “Lay it down”.

And though I long to build upon a wall started years ago, He points me toward the doorway again, toward the escape He created centuries ago with his broken body.

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