Humble and contrite

I read this last night,

and it came to mind today as I was contemplating what I’m going to do regarding the issue in my previous post.

This is the one I esteem: he who is humble and contrite in spirit, and trembles at my word.

Isaiah 66:2

I have a tendency to like running away from my problems. Not dealing with things. Sometimes, by God’s mercy, the time away allows me room to breathe, and time to think.

I haven’t forgiven Eloise. I can feel anger bubble up when I think of how she’s treated me. And tremendous frustration at the idea that the resentment may not be mutual, that it was just carelessness on her part that allowed her to treat me so. I feel anger that I’m not conniving enough to have a numbered list of each instance where I felt stepped on, proving my point without a shadow of a doubt. A list of each instance when I’ve felt like my extended hand was spurned, that I was stepped on in a moment of my vulnerability. To me, I felt hated by her. Like a disease.

And I hated back.

But it’s a really empty, dark place to be. It’s like a hole. It’s hollow. And I can’t let it stay that way.

I want to change. I want this feeling to change. I don’t want to make decisions based on what causes me the least pain while refusing to do anything about the pain I already have. I don’t want to hold on to that.

I’m not going to Eloise’s wedding. But I shall hold nothing against her, I shall be happy with her, and if I get to see her, it will be good.

It really is forgiveness.

That felt like mental/spiritual acrobatics. But I can envision it; I can envision being happy and not resentful that I didn’t attend her wedding, and it’s probably for the best that I don’t go, and I will still have a lot of fun with no burden on my shoulders at our retreat. And if, before then, I struggle again with feelings of resentment, I will grab hold of Christ’s hand for strength, and remember his forgiveness he gave on the cross. I can feel peace in my heart.

Forgiveness is as easy as deciding, again, to believe. To believe that where you are, you don’t want to be, and there’s someplace better, with Christ.


2 Comments Add yours

  1. beth says:

    Oh, I’ve been there. You know I have. It’s almost as though we’re talking about the same person (although I don’t quite think so). And you gave me some similar advice to what you just gave yourself, so I think you’ve got it figured out already!

  2. Stephanie says:

    Stupid me, responding to the previous post before reading this one. :-P

    I have been there, 110%. I ache with you and rejoice with you in all this. For what it’s worth, you’re a great person to empathize with. :)

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