I am a considerably lucky person knowing how much I’ve been through and how far I have to go. Beyond the streets where the journey of life takes place, is a mole – a mistake, a sin.
I am not perfect and I will not claim to be one. I have sins, so many in fact that I lost count to what I intentionally do. Never mind those that I have forgotten about. I know that I’m a filthy person.
But I also know this: Jesus had died for me in the cross and his reason behind it was Love. He loved me enough to suffer for the consequences I deserve to take. Regardless of the sins I’ve done before, I know I am forgiven. He loves me and that makes me luckier than a person who refuses to believe.
The feeling of being forgiven is sweet. Sweeter than any candy you could imagine. What more if God himself did it? But not until one day I realized how difficult it is to forgive. This is what happened.
I had a wonderful morning. I did what I wanted but as all beginnings have, a problem occurred. The plot twist, as what writers say. I sinned. I don’t remember what, but I know it’s bad enough to make me feel guilty the rest of the day.
I prayed about it. ….. But nothing happened. The guilt is still there. The pain and shame was not lifted up from my shoulders. The heaviness and stink of sin is still evident in my aura.
I felt itchy; I knew I have to do something. So I read the Bible. I looked for the part where Jesus was teaching in Mt. Olives. I found it in Matthew, and so is the solution I need.
“For if you forgive others when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.
-Matthew 6:14, 15 (NIV)
The verse is very simple. But it reminded me if what I have been missing. I remembered the one thing that’s making my heart really hard and bitter. I did not forgive my dad.
It’s not that I have a very bad relationship with him. I just don’t like the fact that my dad is getting a little ruder and meaner as he gets older. His mood swings from the other end of both extremes as I find myself standing confused, not knowing what to do next. He loses his temper but takes it back after a few minutes. He makes a mean remark now and he’ll sing along the radio after wads. See? It’s really hard to cope-up with him, knowing I have mood swings to.
But he is not very bad. He doesn’t hit anyone of us. He simply says words that hurt harder than whips. But I also played my part in making him lose his temper. I say mean things as much as he does. So maybe, it’s fair game.
As I thought of this, I realized that my dad is not perfect. He is pretty much the same as me, a sinner. We are the type of people Jesus had to die for. And just like me, I know dad must have felt guilty.
This is the climax of the tale. It was not a dramatic scene, as what some writers would have made. I simply prayed. I knew my dad. He is not expressive. But I know he loves me. So I prayed silently. But praying with sobs forced to be quite is the nosiest thing next to a rock band.
I confessed to God how hard it is to keep a bitter heart towards your dad. I knew I had to forgive him; I knew I had to let things go. I have to understand him not because I should, but because I have to be free. Free from my self-imposed anger towards a fellow sinner. If God was able to forgive me, who am I to not forgive someone else?
I told you it was not a dramatic scene, but I actually cried. The prayer reminded me of my memories with dad and how many times he had helped me. I am not who I am today if my dad was not around. I am very thankful for his life. I am lucky to be his daughter.
The prayer ended with a thank you. I am happy to be forgiven but I am happier to forgive. What a beautiful way to conclude this tale.
What about you? Tell me the tales you hide within your pockets as you type it in the comment box. 🙂