Daily Reminders to Forgive

What’s the most crucial of all relational issues? That’s easy. It’s forgiveness.

A woman once approached the late author Lewis Smedes, a man who came as close as anyone to being a contemporary expert on the challenge of forgiving, shortly after he spoke at a seminar. She said, “I appreciate what you have to say about forgiveness. But I think my forgiver is broken.” Smedes wisely answered, “I think all of our forgivers are broken.” He went on to note that, at best, most of our forgivers are in need of constant repair.

Despite our sincere hopes to the contrary, forgiveness is usually not a one-and-done exercise. I’ve heard people who have been deeply wounded by others announce bravely, sometimes only a few weeks after suffering great trauma, “I’ve forgiven that drunk driver,” or, “I’ve gotten past the fact that my ex betrayed me.”

I do believe that genuine forgiveness is possible. God makes it possible. God can put into our hearts a power to forgive and to release the stranglehold of you-owe-me or I’ll-get-even-with-you that typically comes with searing wounds. But forgiveness is a process. It may take years. Smedes believed that some hurts are like heavy bags of pebbles that we feel compelled to lug around; but pebble by pebble, day by day, we can let go of the hurt. Through prayer and dependence on God’s grace we can gradually stand upright again, unburdened by the weight of resentment.

When I think of those whom I have needed to forgive over the years, three people usually come to mind. Interestingly I still experience almost daily reminders of my need to claim a fresh “letting go” in my relationships with them.

The first is my father. The occasional turbulence that we experienced during my high school years was epitomized by an event that happened one Sunday afternoon. My dad insisted that I learn to drive the stick shift on our family’s Volkswagen Beetle. My slow learning curve, after all, was forcing the rest of the family to adjust the availability of our automatic transmission car to meet my needs. My older brother and mom had been giving me stick shift lessons, and I was entirely happy with their mentoring. But dad wanted results now.

My blood pressure was already high when I got into the driver’s seat of the Beetle, and I’m sure my dad’s was, too, when he entered the passenger side. There isn’t much room inside a Beetle, and the air was thick with emotion. I turned the ignition, engaged the clutch, and shifted into reverse. Except it wasn’t reverse. It was drive. I hit the gas pedal and the Beetle lurched into a tree alongside our driveway.

I can still remember the hurtful words we spoke to each other. I got out of the car and never got back into the driver’s side again. To this day, I still cannot drive a standard transmission car. All that happened almost 40 years ago. I do believe I have forgiven my father, and I think he has forgiven me. But virtually every time I see someone drive a stick, I think of my dad and that painfully awkward day…and I need to go back again and receive the grace of God that alone can heal such long-term hurts.

I also am reminded of a college friend, whom we’ll call Dave. Dave was a bit reckless. He liked to show me up. Dave and I were both sufficiently insecure that we competed for the attention of the group of students we hung around.

One winter break we journeyed to southern Michigan, where we took part in an exceedingly cold retreat at a camp. One of the highlights of our time was the opportunity to bounce down the local snowy slopes atop giant inner tubes. Just as I shoved off on a tube overloaded with screaming collegiate humanity, Dave came charging toward us at full speed. He piled on. My right leg was thrust outward at a strange angle. “Dave, get off!” I shouted. “Come on, McDonald, you won’t get hurt.”

But I did get hurt. When our tube hit a huge mogul, my right big toe was crunched. I limped around and felt sorry for myself the rest of the retreat…and resented Dave. But that was only the beginning. The long-term effect has been an ever-protruding bunion on my right toe and accompanying nerve damage. It’s especially painful when I have to stand for long stretches of time. And when might that be? When I preach on Sunday mornings…presenting sermons about oh, I don’t know, forgiveness, maybe.

I haven’t seen Dave for years. I know I have forgiven him for that silly moment on the slopes. But when I put my socks on in the morning, and I am tempted to go back to feeling sorry for myself, God calls me yet again to release any lingering emotional claims I have on Dave.
Finally, there’s a fellow with whom I’ve had an ongoing theological debate. He’s a great guy, really. But we’ve never been able to see eye to eye on about 50 Bible verses, all of which swirl around the same subject. Hardy a time goes by when I pick up my Bible that I don’t find myself in close proximity to one of those verses, and I am reminded of our pointed discussions more than a decade and a half ago. Isn’t Bible reading supposed to be a refuge from painful thoughts? Ironically, sometimes our encounters with God’s Word can prompt those uncomfortable memories.

When it comes to forgiveness, feelings can be decidedly unreliable seismometers. We may sense emotional earthquakes that aren’t really happening. I’ve come to the conclusion, however, that God allows such tremors in my life for a reason. They are ongoing opportunities to revisit the very nature of forgiveness.

By God’s grace, he forgives me. By God’s grace, I can forgive others. And by God’s grace, I pray that others will choose to forgive me for the myriad hurtful and foolish things I have inflicted on them – matters that may be unknown to me but have become a 40-year journey of letting go for someone else.

Meanwhile, I’m making progress. But I still have a ways to go. Just watch my reaction when you drive by in your VW Beetle.