I am well acquainted with the ridiculous. I hate to wear makeup. I love Brussels sprouts. I collected cicada shells as a child and hid them so no one would steal them from me. I adore toads because they are cute. If that's not enough to convince the reader that I embrace the ridiculous, this just might… I gave CPR to a dead squirrel on Sunday after it died in our live trap, when just a few weeks ago I swore a blood oath against the squirrels—to maim and murder every one—because they are tomato thieves.
Margaret Ridiculous Wolfinbarger. That's me! So when I found myself sobbing in the back yard this weekend after someone I loved hurt me, my first instinct was not to forgive them. Actually, I wanted to punch them in the stomach and stomp on their head. Instead, I stood in the dirt—in the midst of my rock-strewn yard—and wailed like a baby. Yes, the men putting a roof on the house two doors down stopped their banal chatter. Yes, my children huddled around me and tried to comfort me and yes, I decided to forgive the emotional terrorist who chose to torment me.
Emotional pain is agonizing. Ask anyone who's been through a painful divorce or lost a loved one. Even as we try to heal, excruciating reminders prick us relentlessly. A song. A television program. The smell of a specific after-shave. They induce us to ask questions we never considered before, like, how can people be so mean? Why does evil exist? Is there a god? If so, why would he allow such horror? Is he cruel? Is he uncaring? And finally, will the pain ever go away? I have asked these questions and more. Many times have I raged at the earth and sky when the pain was unbearable, and—after much consideration—I have come to the conclusion that forbearance, forgiveness, and pressing forward are the best responses.
Forgive someone who took the life of my child? That's ridiculous! Forgive my cheating spouse? Absurd! Forgive the relative who took my innocence? Margaret, you must be out of your mind! Maybe. I've never claimed to be completely sane. But I will explain how I came to this conclusion.
Several years ago a dear friend caused me great emotional turmoil by walking away from our friendship. To this day I don't understand the logic behind it. I only know that the rift was irrevocable. The relationship was forever torn asunder, though I tried desperately to reconcile it. The psalmist, King David experienced something similar. He said, "Even my close friend, someone I trusted, one who shared my bread, has turned against me." (Psalm 41:9) This was a friend who knew my innermost secrets, with whom I had shared joys beyond measure and great sorrow, someone I thought would love me forever. One day, they simply didn't love me anymore. It was excruciating and I didn't understand it. Each day as I drove to work I would cry. Then I would cry on the drive home. Thoughts of this person consumed me and I could not handle the grief. So I took my grief to the only one I knew who could, Jesus. I know. It's 2015 and I sound like a wacky eighteenth century fundamentalist parroting some religious rhetoric. But until one has experienced the devastation of betrayal by the person they love most in the world, don't expect anything I say here to make sense. Pain isn't supposed to make sense. It just hurts. And I needed someone to heal it.
I began to adjust to my new reality but the ache didn't diminish. I began to realize that I needed to forgive this person. But even forgiving them didn't stop the hurt. In fact, for a while it seemed to hurt more. Forgiveness meant peeling away the calluses and exposing the deepest of wounds in my heart. Each day I would lay my heart in front of my savior and pray for Him to heal it. I learned that healing is sometimes messy business. For me, it meant addressing wrongs that I had done and wrongs that had been done to me. It meant letting go of grudges I felt were justified, and clinging to the hope that one day reconciliation would come, but without putting my life on hold in the meantime. It also meant preparing my heart for the moment my friend would return so that I could offer grace instead of a slap in the face. All the while I kept asking Jesus to heal my heart, and measure by measure, He did.
If forgiveness is a radical idea in our culture, grace is a complete mystery. The elderly couple who stood in line before me today were frustrated when their gift card wouldn't work. It was obvious they were on a budget and didn't have the money to pay for their food without it. They apologized to me for making me wait. I smiled and said I wasn't in a hurry. After they left the cashier expressed his confusion over my behavior. I explained to him that so often we rush through life and in our carelessness, we wound people with our haste. I said, "Think about when someone honks at you for an inadvertent traffic incident. It can ruin your whole day." He nodded and stared at me in amazement. In response I said, "Why propagate frustration and meanness when we can extend grace?"
Living with a tender heart sometimes feels ridiculous. The arrows people aim in my direction hurt terribly when they hit their mark. Forgiving those who persecute me can be very challenging. For that reason, many people in this world build emotional walls and develop calluses to protect themselves. It just makes sense. Except that when we build walls and calluses, we miss out on the joy that comes from loving and being loved, from wounding and finding forgiveness, from noticing the pain of the people around us and offering comfort.
Sunday morning I woke up and grabbed my roller-skates. I drove to the park, laced up and took off. It wasn't long before people were chuckling at me. It's not very often people see a woman with white roller-derby skates zooming around. I could see it in their eyes. "She looks ridiculous!" I smiled and laughed with them. Sometimes being ridiculous is great fun. And great fun is not a far step from providing joy. That's why I want to be a pelican when I grow up. Yes, pelicans can carry water and dump it on the heads of people who annoy them, but they can also use their mighty beak to sprinkle grace onto the dry and barren hearts of this world.
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