Forgive and Forget

In the late fall of​ 2014, our family was ousted from our home in the most undignified manner.

We’d been living there for a little over a year, renting from a couple my family had known since I was a half-pint. It had seemed like a dream come true when we’d been approached about renting from them; they wanted someone they knew who would care for their home, and so the rent we paid was not what one would expect from that large of a home that backed to open space and a reservoir to boot! Paradise!

When we’d first moved in, I’d asked how long they were thinking to rent to us. The answer was five or six years or until they retired and moved back to Colorado. And so, we settled blissfully into our new home for an extended stay.

Until October 6 when I received an email. They were selling the house.

Initially he indicated that he wanted us to put a sign in the front yard to sell it himself. I vetoed that, indicating that there was no way we were going to allow people off the street to come in and see the house without an insured and bonded real estate agent. He relented.

Fast forward not quite two months (I’m leaving out 75% of the sordid details) and we were fleeing the house from the imminent sale that had initially seemed like an answer to prayer: a single man was buying and willing to continue to rent it to us. That man became erratic and threatening, and after a particularly bad encounter we’d found another house and signed a lease within 48 hours.

There are so many other things that happened. I could outline them all, but let me just summarize by saying that the friendship that had lasted almost four decades between our families is in rubbles. I was saddened by their decision to sell, but understood and wasn’t angry. But, over the course of that month, things came to light that cut me to my core. When I addressed them in an email, there was only justification and obfuscation.

Whatever.

Here’s what I’m grappling with right now, and that’s forgiveness.

In the early 1990s I grappled with this very same thing and thought that I’d really become quite accomplished at the whole maneuver!

I was dating a guy and his mother had pulled a really dastardly deed that had hurt my feelings beyond belief. I relished telling the story of what she’d done. Everyone I told empathized and agreed that I’d been done wrong. Every time I told the story, I’d feel that familiar rush of righteous anger, the unjustness of it all.

Of course, I would finish the story with, “…and of course I forgive her! I really do!”

Forgive and forget, right?

Until one day I was gob smacked (or perhaps God-smacked) by the thought that while I might not ever forget it, there was no way I could claim to forgive until I stopped telling the story. Reliving the details of the wrong and the dredging up the emotions of the hurt. Claiming to forgive, but airing her wrongs to a new audience time and again.

That day I had the heretofore unthought thought that forgiveness wasn’t just saying the words, it was no longer telling the story.

It revolutionized my life in the area of forgiveness! I got quite good at it! I just stopped myself from reliving, retelling wrongs!

Except my husband. That was a different blog post. {grins}

And now today. Three years after we were chased from our home. One Sabbath not so long ago I was standing in the children’s welcome area with a friend who I had just grabbed in a hug…

…and into my line of sight walked the wife of the couple who’d sold the house out from under us.

Sigh.

Forgiveness.

The last three years, we’d lived in a home that we ended up loving! If not the house itself, then definitely the neighborhood and neighbors made up for it in spades! We made friends, I got involved with a non-profit (running the finances) that gives us free eggs and access to riding horses whenever I want!

I told myself that I forgave this couple! I told family that I forgave them!

And then they showed up at church. They live almost 13 hours away from Colorado. There are only about a dozen churches in the Denver area to attend.

No, I had to come face to face with the fact that I hadn’t forgiven. I still have raw emotion about the whole thing.

I’ve stopped telling the story, by and large. Writing it out above was the first time I’ve thought of it in quite a while. I thought I’d forgiven.

I don’t know how long it will be before they visit again. I wonder to myself if they’re thinking about it. About us. About me. I wonder if they’re talking about it. I wonder if he’s composing an email to send. I wish he would. Forgiveness is so much easier if the other party, the wounding party, asks forgiveness. Acknowledges the wrong and opens that door. But that’s not likely.

And so here I sit. Mulling. Stewing. Wishing it were different. Not yet ready to do anything myself. Seems there’s much more for me to learn.

Nicolle
Mother-in-Chief at
I'm a mother of five who began homeschooling with the best of intentions to follow the Moore Formula. Life soon taught me that lessons learned because of natural curiosity trumped lesson books, and we took a left-hand turn into radical unschooling.

We still incorporate facets of the Moore Formula into our lives, but mostly live education instead of doing it!

2 Comments

  1. I understand. Boy, do I understand.

    I appreciate what you said about ceasing from telling the story. It’s a good start. I really am learning that forgiveness must be a gift from God, because we just can’t do it in our own will power.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *