“Not that we get hurt but how we are after that slap,either way ; the slapper and the slapped…”
It was hard for me to follow what Amanna was saying, it always is hard to understand her. She is full of age and a scary kind of wisdom.
” Have you never been in the wrong ? ” Her voice is piercing.
” Sure I have.”
” Do you forgive ?’
” Yes, in maybe 48 hours, sometimes 24..”
” If you are forgiven but they keep a record ..? You hold that against them?”
Hey what did Amanna know about me ? ” Yes, I can’t believe it when I must take the blame, say sorry, then ask forgiveness. But what is killer is when they then say, ” AH but we wont forget..”
Her eyes mist up for some reason as she hands me home baked biscuits. The room is very very small in that old peoples’ home, a little coffee table spills with photo frames, brown, black and curling pictures of little children and men and women with photo- brown hair…
” That’s the difference between God and us. ”
After that she will not talk. We have some more thin tea and biscuits, as the hurt in me leaves thru’ the back of my head, leaves forever. Amanna’s eyes are wide with memories of a husband who left, of children that write once in a way from nice places they live at. I wish I could do ONE nice thing for her before I leave – we brought her a box of handkerchiefs and a bracelet she will never wear ; her eyes are warm, then distant.
” You could give me a hug,” her words are almost to herself, like she has forgotten how to ask.
Dear God, how much have I forgotten to remember…
I hadn’t ‘ hugged ” Aunty Amanna in years, unsure why. The last time our glasses clashed, and she had said a few things about my cooking skills and some other things I had not forgotten.
Now as she reached for me with those paper-thin arms I remembered how as a little child she would get me Christmas candy, every December, Christmas Candy, as if I were the only little girl on earth.
As I write this am reminded that the message of Christ and the Cross is all about reconciliation. Each other, and with Peace with God. Without that I am nothing. All the nice words and pictures of love, all the music and candle lit halls decked with Holly and festivity are nothing if I baked a biscuit with bitter thoughts.
For the 2013th time – thank you Lord for Love like that, so unlike my kind of Love, and so You!
- Can there be true forgiveness if there is no forgetting? (pattidawnswansson.wordpress.com)
- The reason for the season. (amylwestdavidson.wordpress.com)
- Forgive & Forget (mcor2012.wordpress.com)
- I Cant. I Wont. (floetiquette.wordpress.com)