• Their ability to stay curious and open-minded toward people whose behavior is deeply hurtful to them. While I like to think of myself as open-minded and gracious, I’m realizing I’m not as much as I’d like to believe. I recognize an ugly tendency in myself to write off people who hurt or frustrate me and, if I’m being really honest, even wish them ill—hoping they would feel pain equal to or worse than what I feel they’ve caused me. Learning about Ruth, Nina, and Osheta’s experiences has convicted me and encouraged me to re-evaluate these tendencies.

• The concept of belovedness in ourselves and the critical connection between believing in our own belovedness and the ability to extend that belief to others. I consider myself very people-oriented and empathetic, but recently, I’ve started to see how my own insecurities affect my ability to love others. This language of believing in my own belovedness—and the idea that making peace with myself is foundational to making peace with others—has given me a new perspective on my struggles and additional tools for working through them.

These themes have been surfacing outside of the cohort as well. Last Sunday, the sermon at church was about forgiveness. There are a couple of people who have hurt me so deeply that I haven’t been able to get my head or heart around the idea of forgiving them, even though some of the wounds were inflicted years ago. I know forgiveness doesn’t necessarily mean forgetting or trusting the person again, but honestly, in these situations, I wonder—what does it mean, then?

As the pastor was speaking on Sunday, a thought hit me, and I think it may have been from the Lord: “What if forgiveness in these cases means releasing these people in my heart and mind to God and trusting His work in their lives?”

That would require me to let go of my own desire for justice as I envision it and instead trust God’s work. I’m not sure if that is complete forgiveness, but it feels like at least a helpful step in that direction.

The “who” and the “what” are the same…Ron.

From the first impact on August 1, 1993 until today, he is part of the story…part of the fear…the fabric…the example…the metaphor…the symbol…the promise…and the hope of reconciliation.

I first met him in the courthouse where he was being arraigned for killing my husband Chris.  He gave me a sincere apology with clarity and sorrow sown into every word.  I ached for us both, and for his mother who, through tears, held him up from behind.

We met again 15 years later in hope of reconciling what, on the surface, is irreconcilable. 

We met over 2 days through 11 hours of grueling circle time with my 3 children, 3 restorative justice circle keepers, my spiritual director and his wife.  We told stories to give a fuller picture of our circumstances, held silence, asked questions then waited holding our collective breath for insufficient answers to come.  We gave space to one another and to God, cried tears, told truths, felt deeply all that you might imagine, and bore witness to our shared regret around that fateful day, regret that alone cannot be undone.

It was over before I came to a place of forgiveness.

I left needing to do inner work to find healing, hope, and promise through the long inner journey of reconciling my own heart to the unimaginable yet real.  

I wanted to blame him, but with the fuller story I found I couldn’t.  So I retreated.  I prayed.  I wrote.  I sobbed. I felt God meet me in the center of the labyrinth, and then, God touched my wounded, blistered heart renewing life’s hope.  God healed me.  Alas, the next day, my anger surged as I considered the bondage of my loss while Ron knew freedom after prison.  The laser of my anger found God the target, not Ron.  And God met me there in the “Why?”

That poison–that corrosive acid in my soul– spilled out in my journal.  Afterward, my empty heart opened,  leaving a space for freedom to rise to the surface.  And like bubbles from the carbonated drink, God freed me.  I let go.  Miraculously, my anger floated away like dandelion seeds in the wind and I felt restored.  I stepped into joy releasing any hold on Ron.  

This forgiveness work demanded I reconcile within me what a Christian heart knows as Jesus’ invitation to wholeness.  

I realized it was never really Ron.  It was my own heart that needed to do the work of reconciliation.  I needed to allow my life to reflect God’s invitation to love deeply rather than hold bitterness, righteousness, or anger.  These were the gods before me that I clutched and worshiped. With integrity and honesty I felt grief and tears, then, let them go.

For me, reconciliation is the demanding and difficult work of reckoning with expectations, plans, and judgements, and then, acknowledging and accepting what IS.  It’s owning my resistance to my own life circumstances that causes me pain. What if I learn to accept “This”; to love what IS and release my plan to God’s mercy, truth, justice and peace?   It’s  a hard, hard journey from what I think it SHOULD be to what IS, and my resistance only slows down my freedom.