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Forgiveness
Last Christmas, I lost a friend. No, she didn’t die. And she didn’t move away. But she’s gone just the same.
She did something to someone else that I knew was wrong. Being a good friend, I talked to her about it. I guess honesty was a bad idea with this girl. It made her angry. Irate. Livid.
Furious enough to spread lies to other friends. Oh yes, she got even. Then, I lost those friends too.
You can say they weren’t my true friends if they turned so easily. And you’re right. But it doesn’t diminish the hurt. It doesn’t make the betrayal go away. I was crushed.
Angry.
Brokenhearted.
I cried for three days when I found out about the lies. I wanted to scream out, “It isn’t true!”
“I never said those things – it’s all lies!”
I wanted justice. I wanted to march right up and yell out my innocence.
I wanted to curl in a foetal ball and cry myself to sleep. To escape the cruelty of fickle friendship.
But I didn’t even have the courage to face them and try. So I stayed quiet. Silently aching. Wounded and shattered. Afraid to trust.
I had to choose. Would I let it eat me up? The bitter betrayal. The longing to prove my innocence. Or would I forgive and let it go?
But isn’t forgiveness weak? Would it not just give them power?
Let it go. Forgive. I wrestled for weeks. Months passed before I stopped having imaginary conversations in the mirror. Before I quit fantasizing about that day when I could put everything right. I couldn’t sleep. I had to make that choice. Over and over again.
I had to forgive. Then, well . . .
Then my sleep was sweet again.
She did something to someone else that I knew was wrong. Being a good friend, I talked to her about it. I guess honesty was a bad idea with this girl. It made her angry. Irate. Livid.
Furious enough to spread lies to other friends. Oh yes, she got even. Then, I lost those friends too.
You can say they weren’t my true friends if they turned so easily. And you’re right. But it doesn’t diminish the hurt. It doesn’t make the betrayal go away. I was crushed.
Angry.
Brokenhearted.
I cried for three days when I found out about the lies. I wanted to scream out, “It isn’t true!”
“I never said those things – it’s all lies!”
I wanted justice. I wanted to march right up and yell out my innocence.
I wanted to curl in a foetal ball and cry myself to sleep. To escape the cruelty of fickle friendship.
But I didn’t even have the courage to face them and try. So I stayed quiet. Silently aching. Wounded and shattered. Afraid to trust.
I had to choose. Would I let it eat me up? The bitter betrayal. The longing to prove my innocence. Or would I forgive and let it go?
But isn’t forgiveness weak? Would it not just give them power?
Let it go. Forgive. I wrestled for weeks. Months passed before I stopped having imaginary conversations in the mirror. Before I quit fantasizing about that day when I could put everything right. I couldn’t sleep. I had to make that choice. Over and over again.
I had to forgive. Then, well . . .
Then my sleep was sweet again.
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