Children’s Corner: Forgiveness

Hate him. Hate him. Hate him. Hate him. All night long the wheels of the train echoed the dreary song in my heart, as I cried myself to sleep in the bed below my mother and six-year-old sister. Hate him. Hate him. Hate him.

All I could think about was lashing out to hurt the one who was hurting me – my father. Terrible thoughts kept running through my mind like invisible darts. How dare he do this to us? What kind of father would send his own family away on a train?

Daddy was sending us to my aunt’s place in Florida. I was only twelve years old at the time and too timid to tell my father how much I hated him for sending us away. He made me leave my two brothers, all my friends, and our comfortable brick home. I was not able to express my anger and hurt, so I closed my heart to him and silently made a vow that I would never forgive him.

The same morning that he put us on the train, I overheard a whisper of the ugly word – divorce. A few months later the divorce was final and daddy had married someone else. At least my two brothers had come to live with us now, so we were almost a complete family again.

Mother worked very hard to save enough money to buy an old wooden boarding house, that could house forty people and also there was a small restaurant. Here she could help her four children get a college education. She spent fourteen hours every day taking care of the boarders, and feeding another 300 that would pass through her dining room. My sister and I had to serve the food. Whenever I heard mother cooking in the kitchen at five o’clock, the old feelings of anger and resentment towards Daddy would return.

My only contact with my father as I grew up were painful visits – strained and quick, never on holidays or important occasions, and always in a neutral place with his wife present. I began to hide my true feelings of anger, hurt and rejection.

Mother’s hair turned grey, her legs dragged with arthritic pain. The state of Florida finally condemned her old boarding house so they could build a large state office on the site. Mother had to take what they offered her and move once more. Resentment against my daddy rose up in me again.

Although I was a Christian, I would not take responsibility for my ugly attitude. I continued to blame Daddy for Mother’s failing health and having to work so hard. I told myself that my feelings were justified because of Daddy’s actions.

He never contributed a dollar towards our family and I had to work two jobs to finish college. He never sent a card when I graduated, never wrote when I married, and never acknowledged the birth of any of my three children. And all the while he and his wife lived in a rich, fancy home.
One day in my late thirties, something startling happened that changed my angry heart. While I was visiting Mother, I went with her to prayer meeting where the folks who were worshipping seemed to know God in a deeper depth than I did. When the pastor invited those who wanted prayer and further instruction about Christian life to meet afterwards in his office, I went.

I was astonished that the first subject he talked about was forgiveness. We needed, he said, to ask God to forgive us for holding unforgiveness towards anyone. Instantly, I thought of Daddy. I knew that Jesus had taught us to pray, ” Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” But could I, after all these years of hate, really forgive my father? I hung my head and thought about it.

I now had a choice to make. I made a choice not based on my emotions or my feelings, but based on God’s Word. Haltingly, I began to pray. ” Lord I choose to forgive Daddy right now.” I lifted my open palms ever so slightly as though pushing this burden right into my heavenly Father’s lap. Then I added, ” Lord forgive me for all the bitterness, rage, and anger I have harboured all these years. Forgive me for hating him.”

Waves of love, deep love, pulsated through me. I had never known anything like it. It filled my whole body. A Bible verse I had read sometime earlier came to mind again as a promise just for me: ” He will restore the hearts of the father to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers…” (Malachi 4:6). The pastor then prayed that Jesus would live through me and that the Holy Spirit would fill me to overflowing.

Some weeks later I wrote my dad, eager to have our relationship restored. Sometimes he answered with polite letters; other times he sent hateful ones. But I was determined to remain open to him, so I continued to write.

Almost five years passed. Then one day I got a call from Daddy. He was coming alone to visit the three of his children who still lived in Florida. He had taken the bus to my sister’s, and in a couple of days I was to get him, and he would stay awhile with us.

It would be the first time in my married life that Daddy had been in our home overnight. I had mixed emotions! How could I greet him? I never remembered him hugging me. Could I hug him?

As I drove the one hundred and fifty kilometres to my sister’s home, doubts filled my mind. I had forgiven him, hadn’t I? Too soon I was there. There, in her backyard, our eyes met. I smiled and walked to where he stood. I draped a limp arm across his bony, stooped shoulders. Just a thought was all I could manage. Yes, I had forgiven him. My heart told me I no longer hated him, but we were still strangers.

” God help me,” I prayed. ” Help me get to know this man who is my father.”
While sitting on our porch the next night, I drew him out in conversation; I encouraged him to talk about his childhood, and he did. He laughed and leaned far back in a chair, staring at the stars. I couldn’t remember hearing him laugh before. It was a good sound.

For the next two days we caught up on life that had passed us by. The hours flew. All too soon it was time for him to leave. Before boarding the bus, I couldn’t resist the strong urge to reach out and squeeze him. I hugged him tightly for a moment, as a child clutches a treasured teddy bear.
He looked full into my watering eyes and his voice broke. ” How could you love me? After all I’ve done. After all….?”

I couldn’t answer. I was too choked up to tell about the hate I had turned over to Jesus.
But I think he knew. After three days of being with our family, joining us for family worship, I think he knew: I loved because I had forgiven. My heart was clear of all the debris I had surrendered to Jesus the night I chose to forgive my dad.

And I had found forgiveness from God for all my bitterness, resentment, hate and faultfinding. What a load that had been.
The bus slowly rolled down the street. As it picked up momentum, the tires seemed to echo the thoughts swirling through my mind. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. The song had changed.

I saw my Dad several times after that, always making the effort to stop by whenever I was in the state where he and his wife lived.

He was almost eighty-four when he died, outliving my mother by 12 years. He visited me only one other time alone; and when he did, I took him to the cemetery where we children had buried Mom.

” She forgave you long ago, Dad.”
Tears sprang in his eyes. ” She made a lot of sacrifices for you children. By the way, I’m glad you forgave me too,” he said.

Unforgiveness not only hinders our prayers from being answered, it is the one thing that chains us to the person or situation. It keeps us in bondage. Jesus said, ” Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” Luke 6:37, and the word translated ” forgive” means to release, set at liberty, release as unchaining someone. We, the ones who choose to forgive, are now unchained, loosed. We have given up the desire to get even.

When we are dealing with this problem in our hearts, it is a good time to realize that God’s Spirit can shape us and make us into men and women who are both healed and holy. All we have to do is invite Him to do so.