I Forgive You

It was a balmy autumn evening and after supper Hardy and I decided to go for a walk around the lake near our home. Sunsets in fall are spectacular here in Manitoba and it is awesome to watch the geese gathering on the lake, calling to each other as they prepare for their long journey south.

I was a little out of sorts by a conversation that took place just before we left and it was interfering with my enjoyment of the time we had together. Then I saw something on a tree stump close to where we were walking: a small stone painted orange with three little words written on it in black marker: 

I don't know who left it there or for whom it was intended, but it certainly was a poignant reminder to me about how I need to say these words more often.

As we passed the tree stump again on our way home a family with two children came by. The little boy saw the rock, excitedly picked it up and ran to show his mother. She was preoccupied and didn't pay attention to him. He slipped it into his pocket and ran off. I wanted to tell him to leave the stone on the stump so that others could see it. But then I thought, "That stone will do its work no matter where it is."

A few months ago I received a call from someone who wanted some translation work done. Donna said she had some old German letters in a box her father had left her and she couldn't read them. I invited her to come with the box and we would look at the letters together. Some time later she arrived with a beautiful box and we pulled out old letters, boarding tickets, etc. 

Donna's father had immigrated to Canada from Germany. Most of his relatives remained in Germany and the Soviet Union and they corresponded with each other. He told his daughter that the box and its contents were his most precious possession and she should take good care of it. 
To her it embodied all the love her father had showered on her; unlike her mother who had physically abused her from the time she was an infant. As a result she suffers from epilepsy. She shared all this with me, but there was no bitterness or malice toward her mother. She had taken counselling and worked through her problems. She has a loving and supportive husband and because she cannot go out to work due to her seizures, she spends her time at home making jewellery which she sells at craft sales.

A lovely necklace I received as a gift from Donna

Last weekend Hardy and I attended the last sessions of a Mennonite writers conference at the University of Winnipeg (Mennonite/s Writing VIII). We were privileged to hear presentations by Di Brandt, Jeff Gundy, Miriam Toews, and Rhoda Janzen. They were all wonderfully enriching. Toews and Janzen spoke of using humour as a useful literary tool to work through dark times. Even as a child, Miriam used humor to try to help the family cope when her father and her sister succumbed to depression. Eventually, both her father (a well-loved high school teacher) and her sister were not able to overcome the darkness and took their own lives. 

Sitting beside me listening to these presentations was an elderly woman. My first impression of her was that of a happy person who enjoyed life. While chatting with her, I soon realized that I was sitting beside Miriam's mother. She is one of the most delightful people I have ever met!  Her face looked like an apple, all wrinkled and round. Her eyes twinkled, and she was always laughing. She told me that she lives with Miriam and her family in Toronto; she lives upstairs and Miriam's family lives downstairs. They often eat breakfast and also dinner together. For having had so much sadness in her life, she seems like an extremely resilient woman.
Forgiveness must certainly have played a part in that.

We cannot walk through life without experiences that cause pain, some to a lesser degree than others. Some are self-inflicted and then we need to forgive ourselves. Others are caused by people we love or by circumstances beyond our control. There are many stories. 

An African pastor shared with me recently that in Rwanda a woman who is a survivor of the 1994 genocide told him that forgiving is about the victim's sanity. We need to forgive those who have hurt us so that we can be healed. This is not an easy thing to do and that is why it needs to be practiced continuously. 

When Peter asked Jesus if he had to forgive someone seven times, Jesus said, "Not seven times but seventy times seven." (Matthew 18.21-22).

Someone who has taught me much about forgiveness is Wilma Derksen whose thirteen-year-old daughter Candace disappeared in November 1984. Seven weeks later her body was found in a shed, bound and frozen. I recommend reading her latest book: