Today's topic is forgiveness. Why today? Why now? Simply stated, I'm grappling with how to grant forgiveness when someone doesn't ask for it - and worse - when they don't really deserve it.
Sometimes we are hurt deeply by those we love, and they will never know, see, or understand it. It's not that they were accidentally insensitive; instead, they refuse to believe that they could ever be wrong. In their steadfast trek on the path of "rightness", they don't see that words and actions can pull apart a relationship with even the strongest foundation.
With that in mind, I've started searching for what I think forgiveness really is, and who it is for. There are a lot of really wise words out there about how forgiveness is really about the forgiver. It's about making peace with someone who has wronged you. It's about moving forward with your life, and maybe your relationship.
I buy that. I can get there. But isn't it really something more? Isn't it a gift? Isn't it possible that granting forgiveness is an act of love?
When I have done something so terribly atrocious to someone I love, I don't simply apologize. Apologies are for spilled milk or losing someone's casserole dish. They are for forgetting to run the errand you promised. They are for thoughtless decisions that spiral slightly out of control. But that's not where we ask for forgiveness, is it?
Forgiveness, true forgiveness, shouldn't be asked for lightly; being truly sorry is perhaps the most tragic experience we face as humans. It's for those times when you've done something that hurts someone deeply, and in such a heartless way, that you fiercely regret your actions. It reserved for those times when you fear the end of your relationship is near, knowing you no longer deserve it. When you find someone willing to grant you forgiveness in these moments, it's special and rare. He or she isn't just accepting your request, but is accepting you when you have been the worst you can be - and he or she still wants to love you anyway. How humbling that moment becomes.
So in this separation of apologies versus forgiveness, where does that leave us when there are people who don't even understand the magnitude of their impact? How many times should we be required to open our hearts to love, only to be torn apart again? Of course, there isn't one answer for everyone. And yet, I wonder, can we truly live with such inequitable relationships? Can one person continue forgiving out of love when the other isn't willing to humble himself even enough to see the damage it's causing?
Sometimes maybe we can, but in those times, our relationships morph into something else. Maybe they are a little less close, a little less honest, or a little more guarded - but still existing. Expectations are different, more appropriate, and it becomes easier to protect ourselves from continuous injury. There are other times, especially with archetypal relationships, that that transition is simply impossible. We become caught up in what it should be, and how someone should feel about their transgressions. The opportunity for love simply diminishes.
I guess that can be a healthy transition; after all, someone who can't ever see your perspective is at worse, abusive, and at a best, a likely narcissist. But even still, it is easy to feel like you've failed, that you could have done better, that you can still do better to save it. I suppose in those moments, we fall on our knees to beg forgiveness of ourselves; to grant it then may actually be the ultimate act of love.
Sometimes we are hurt deeply by those we love, and they will never know, see, or understand it. It's not that they were accidentally insensitive; instead, they refuse to believe that they could ever be wrong. In their steadfast trek on the path of "rightness", they don't see that words and actions can pull apart a relationship with even the strongest foundation.
With that in mind, I've started searching for what I think forgiveness really is, and who it is for. There are a lot of really wise words out there about how forgiveness is really about the forgiver. It's about making peace with someone who has wronged you. It's about moving forward with your life, and maybe your relationship.
I buy that. I can get there. But isn't it really something more? Isn't it a gift? Isn't it possible that granting forgiveness is an act of love?
When I have done something so terribly atrocious to someone I love, I don't simply apologize. Apologies are for spilled milk or losing someone's casserole dish. They are for forgetting to run the errand you promised. They are for thoughtless decisions that spiral slightly out of control. But that's not where we ask for forgiveness, is it?
Forgiveness, true forgiveness, shouldn't be asked for lightly; being truly sorry is perhaps the most tragic experience we face as humans. It's for those times when you've done something that hurts someone deeply, and in such a heartless way, that you fiercely regret your actions. It reserved for those times when you fear the end of your relationship is near, knowing you no longer deserve it. When you find someone willing to grant you forgiveness in these moments, it's special and rare. He or she isn't just accepting your request, but is accepting you when you have been the worst you can be - and he or she still wants to love you anyway. How humbling that moment becomes.
So in this separation of apologies versus forgiveness, where does that leave us when there are people who don't even understand the magnitude of their impact? How many times should we be required to open our hearts to love, only to be torn apart again? Of course, there isn't one answer for everyone. And yet, I wonder, can we truly live with such inequitable relationships? Can one person continue forgiving out of love when the other isn't willing to humble himself even enough to see the damage it's causing?
Sometimes maybe we can, but in those times, our relationships morph into something else. Maybe they are a little less close, a little less honest, or a little more guarded - but still existing. Expectations are different, more appropriate, and it becomes easier to protect ourselves from continuous injury. There are other times, especially with archetypal relationships, that that transition is simply impossible. We become caught up in what it should be, and how someone should feel about their transgressions. The opportunity for love simply diminishes.
I guess that can be a healthy transition; after all, someone who can't ever see your perspective is at worse, abusive, and at a best, a likely narcissist. But even still, it is easy to feel like you've failed, that you could have done better, that you can still do better to save it. I suppose in those moments, we fall on our knees to beg forgiveness of ourselves; to grant it then may actually be the ultimate act of love.
