in the fury of the moment

Recently I did something really wrong to a friend, someone I care about very much. As soon as I committed the wrong (and even while I was doing it), I felt terrible. The offense hadn’t been well-thought out or planned, it was something I gave into in a moment of weakness. Ok, or maybe 10 or 15 moments of weakness. I had thought that maybe I would have some kind of satisfaction when it was over. But instead, all I felt was a gnawing feeling inside of me telling me that I had done something terrible. I tried praying and asking God to help me forget, thinking that if I was ok with God then I would be ok in the end. Maybe the person wouldn’t ever find out, and telling him about it might just cause more harm than good. I guess I thought about it long enough that I convinced myself that my logic was somehow sound, and that it really could work out the way I was planning.

That night I couldn’t sleep, and I actually got to the point where I was physically ill. Even through this I talked myself into believing that I could get through this if I just held on and stayed strong. The next morning I woke up with a heavy feeling in my heart, and I knew that there was no way I could talk that weight away. But I continued to pray and ask God to take this burden from me and to give me relief. Instead I felt God very strongly urging me that the only way I would find relief was to confess my wrongdoing to my friend. It was what I already knew in the deepest part of my heart, but I fought it. I fought it hard. I had visions of this person yelling and being upset and telling me he never wanted to see me again, and as far as I could see he would have been completely justified in doing so. I had violated a sacred trust, and I recognized the severity of my actions.

Finally I called the friend and talked to him about some other things, but still couldn’t bring myself to broach the subject that was so heavy on my heart. I felt like I was living out the story of the elephant in the room that everyone knows is there but no one talks about. I was sure that somehow my friend knew, even though another part of me was convinced there was no way he could ever find out. After I got off the phone with him (without mentioning a word about what I had done), the pressure in my chest seemed to intensify. I was even more convinced than before that I had to tell him. I guess the hardest part wasn’t even his possible reaction (because I felt that I completely deserved to be shunned) but instead the disappointment in myself that I would do such a thing as I had done. Of course we all like to see ourselves in the best light possible, and we hesitate to believe or accept the possibility that we are not as good as we want to be, or even as good as the self that we present to others.

The weight continued to pull on me throughout the day until I couldn’t take it anymore. I wrote a letter and headed to my friend’s house. I think it was probably the most pathetic letter I had ever written, because I couldn’t seem to find the words to convey what it was that I was feeling. It may have also been the shortest letter that I have ever written – I tend to write a lot, but the words really just wouldn’t come that day. As I approached his house I had so many thoughts of turning around and forgetting the whole thing. But I knew I couldn’t. I knew the possible outcome of losing this friend was a chance I had to take, compared to the possibility of our friendship going on with this huge wall between us – a wall that I had erected in just a few moments of stupidity and selfishness.

I got to his house and it hurt me to even look at him. I felt shame and the inability to even try to explain myself to him. So I just handed him the letter and waited for the wrath to come. The anticipated wrath never came. This hurt even more, and I felt even worse, because I knew in my heart that I was still holding back. I had only told him about part of what I had done. Surely if he knew the full scope of my act, then he would be overcome with anger toward me. I lingered and tried to formulate words to express the rest of my confession to him, but nothing seemed adequate. I talked to him and he actually gave me the opportunity to tell him about the rest of what I did, but I panicked and lied. Things just seemed to be getting worse, and I was filled with an inner turmoil that I had never before experienced. First, I had done wrong to someone for whom I held an incredible amount of respect and appreciation … now I had lied to cover up that wrong. Eventually the level of disgust with myself rose up so high that I had to force myself to leave. As I drove away, I looked in the rearview mirror and broke into sobs as I saw empty eyes looking back at me.

I went home and fell to my knees, hoping that somehow I would find some relief in knowing that I had at least been partially honest with my friend. But relief did not come – if anything, I now felt worse. I could not understand myself … I so desperately wanted to remove the thorns in the flesh of the trust that I had built with this friend, but instead I seemed to be pushing them in even further. I ended up calling my friend and admitting that I lied, and he told me that he already knew. To some people this news might have been a relief, because they would feel as if they had surrendered before getting “caught” … to me, this news made the pain even more real. As my friend reassured me of his forgiveness, I felt pangs of hurt travel throughout my heart. Deep down I knew that I in no way deserved his forgiveness … in fact every part of me wanted to cry out to him NOT to forgive me, but to be angry with me and to yell at me. However, the awful beauty of it all is that my friend refused to take the easy approach. He harbored no anger and held no grudge, but he lovingly forgave me.

I have been through some crazy things in my life, and I learned a while back that I always seem to have an easier time forgiving others than forgiving myself. I’m not sure why this is, but it’s definitely true with me. It is true today, as I still struggle to understand how someone could willingly let go of a wrong I did and treat me as if I had never done it. But I am wrong to be this way – I know in my heart that I am, and yet still somehow it’s almost easier to go on being wrong than it is to work at being right. The reasons that I forgive others – those same reasons apply to me. God commands us to forgive, whether that means forgiving others or forgiving myself. The amazing thing, and the thing that is maybe the most difficult thing for me to grasp, is that this forgiveness doesn’t have all that much to do with me and everything to do with Christ. I have this tendency to think that somehow I can work out my own forgiveness, and there is absolutely no way I could ever do enough good or nice things to earn the right to forgive myself. Christ has already done everything on the cross that would ever need to be done in order for me to be forgiven, and it would be nothing less than an insult to suggest that what he did wasn’t enough. For me to spend today wallowing in self-pity and continuing on in this guilt trip – that would be dishonoring to God.

The point is not how many wrongs I do or don’t do – the point is what I do after it. I knew that I had to tell my friend, regardless of whether he forgave me or not. I knew that I had to tell him, regardless of whether there was ever a chance of him finding out what I did. I had done wrong, I had broken a trust, I had misrepresented myself and my actions … I had undermined part of the very foundation of my friendship with him. “Making it right” is almost always messy, and usually it’s the difficult thing to do, but in the end it’s the ONLY thing to do. If we are really Christians and if we really love other people, there is no option but to put ourselves out there and say “I messed up, and I will probably mess up again tomorrow” and close our eyes and wait to feel the sting of reality or the force of being pushed out of someone’s life. It’s what we do when we come before Christ. Christ can see through us, and he knows every wrong we have ever done and every thing we will ever do. But whether or not he knows about it, or whether or not he will punish us for it, we need to tell him about what we have done. The wonderful thing with God, the incomprehensible thing that doesn’t make sense and isn’t easy to accept – is that somehow, for some reason He tells us, “I forgive you.”

Yesterday I saw Christ in my friend. I felt His love in the arms of a companion. I don’t understand it, and I definitely don’t feel like I deserve it, but I tearfully embrace this forgiveness and love. And I tell myself that even if I don’t feel like forgiving myself, I know I will … and I know that – like so many things in life – as I step forward in faith and choose to forgive, the feelings will come later. They’re already starting to come a little bit right now. Recently I re-read the story of the prodigal son … I have always loved that story, but I have a really difficult time making a real-life application. I think if I were the son in the story, I would have a really difficult time accepting the embrace of the loving father. But it’s what God calls us to do, so today I throw myself in His arms, and I plan to stay there for a while.

posted by Krista @ 10:21 AM