Forgiveness

I have not always been the most tactful person. I've done some pretty awful things. Many of my years after graduation were spent in a violent rage fueled by drugs, alcohol and misanthropy and as a result I have hurt many, many people.

Recently, I have realized that my actions have caused many people more pain than words could ever begin to describe. It was a painful realization to come to but I knew that to make things right, I first needed to swallow my pride and seek forgiveness. Thus the journey began and just as abruptly, the same journey of righting past wrongs came to an end.

Not because I was uncomfortable with disregarding my own pride or a desire to disregard my wrong doing. These particular incidents haunt me in a way that very few people will ever know. No, the journey ended because of hardened hearts. Hearts that, sadly enough, proclaim the unending love and forgiveness of Christ. The same forgiveness that I was seeking from the overflow of these peoples hearts.

My time at Bible college was rough, to say the least. I had entered into a giant cluster of cultural clash, crass idealism and defiant Christendom. All were the outpouring of my own spiritual sickness. The time was spent with an attitude of nonconformist elitism that was rooted in my hatred of the established order. Needless to say; I clashed with the administration.

Those clashes brought on a very interesting mix of relationships. Some were for the good, some were for the bad. Some were forged in similar struggles and some developed in anger. Some stood the test of time while others were disregarded and cast aside. I wanted to right the wrongs of those that began at Bible college and those that developed after as a result of my time in the hole. But first, I had to address the struggles from my past. The memories that would haunt my dreams, both day and night, for the better half of a decade.

Before Christ dropped kicked the door of my heart and decided to essentially squat there until it was clean enough for Him to move in, I had seen and been apart of a variety of incidents that ended with horrible outcomes.

First, I had to seek forgiveness from a guy who I assaulted. It was a cold night and I had left a show in a blind fit of rage. Walking down the street in Westlake I came across a man who I vaguely knew. He asked me for a cigarette and I politely told him to perform a certain act on himself. His response was not what I was looking for. I was looking for a fight and he was looking for a friend. His apology was not welcomed. I walked away with swollen knuckles while he wasn't so fortunate. Unprovoked, it was something that would slowly burn at my heart with the fiery strength of white phosphorus. That was the biggest hit to my ego. I desired to hold onto that tough guy image and I knew my apology would strip that from me. Regardless, it needed done. Forgiveness had been granted for my actions. It was a freedom that words cannot express.

Sadly enough, it gets worse. In my desire for social acceptance, my drug use intensified during high school. I found myself increasingly surrounded by various drugs. And with the drug culture, comes those who deal. I had harassed a kid enough that he eventually tried drugs. First it was a simple puff but it intensified. I saw them try increasingly more hardcore drugs. Until I heard that they overdosed. Thankfully, they lived but would forever be affected by that choice. With tears in my eyes, I called them up. As they picked up the phone, I heard the words of a ghost echo through my heart. They were no longer the happy, vivacious person I remember them to be. Instead, I was communicating with a ghost of someone I helped kill. A ghost that haunted my dreams for many, many years.

I pled my case and through choked back tears and a whisper that screamed at me, they forgave me. The words I spoke were rehab to their soul. It was done. And it felt wonderful.

Continuing on this path, I witnessed a friend of mine, a dealer, ask forgiveness from a father of a kid who overdosed on his product. He just wanted to try heroine once. His first time was his last and his father died with him. Diving head first into the bottle seemed like a fitting way to escape his sons death. His marriage spiraled out of control and ended in a very bitter divorce.

As I rode with my friend, I could tell that his nerves were on the last leg. As he approached the door the fear that ran through him was apparent. This man, who ran into Baghdad and stuck the finger to the regime of Saddam Hussein in the form of a 5.56, expressed the fear that few ever show. Watching this battle hardened veteran approach a frail, staggering man in his mid 50's was a sight I will never forget.

Sitting in his Ford F150, I was expected for it to go south. Fast. He knocked on the door and as the father stepped out, tears flowed. Prepared to plead his case, he opened his mouth. He was able to get two words out: I'm sorry before he broke down and embraced the man in a hug.

He stood there. Silence. Stoic as anyone could ever be. And then hope appeared. The father cried and the two embraced. Showing both remorse and forgiveness. The father invited him in and they talked for two hours. In the most extreme cases of forgiveness I have ever witnessed, the man who lost a son at the hands of this mans product forgave him. The two now work to fight drug use among teens. The father sobered up, the dealer no longer sells and they both speak as a pair to the same high schools that he once sold to.

I was revived in my own personal quest. Having conquered my own biggest regrets, I knew that I had the strength to tackle the ones I knew, or so I thought, would be easiest: Christians.

I had spent the majority of my time berating those in college that I attended. Horrible things were said to them and for no reason at all. That attitude followed me to my new residence in Tennessee where I said some pretty mean things to some people.

First, I needed to address those at my school. Given the distance and my lack of verbal communication skills, an email was sent. Feeling good at the possibility of a new friendship in Christ, I was hoping for the best. Rejection.

Well, maybe the others would be more receptive. If one could be so lucky.

Defeated, I moved on. Again, my verbal skills are not always the best. So in an attempt to convey the sincerity of my remorse, an email was sent.

An email was promptly rejected.

I had spent countless nights haunted by my actions towards those I have hurt. As much as it ripped me apart, day after day, for what I did prior to salvation, my biggest regrets were how I treated my fellow believers. Words cannot ever begin to express the remorse I have for those situations. Due in large part to the eternal consequences inflicted upon their ministries. Rather than edifying those who were spreading the gospel, I criticized and shifted their focus elsewhere. I was suppose to be an ally and I had quickly became their enemy.

What saddens me the most, and the reason I decided to put my emotions into words, is this. With all of the things I have done to all of the people I've known, those who rejected Christ were the quickest to grant forgiveness while the same ones who expressed that very same love were slow, even seemingly incapable, of dealing it out, for whatever reason.

I am well aware few, if any, will ever read this particular post. I am only writing this for my own benefit. To put words to the feeling of rejection. Rejection that had stripped me of any sort of joy these last few weeks.

I'm not asking for any favors. I'm not asking for any sort of public recognition. Nothing of the sort. All I am asking for is G-ds grace that dwells in the hearts of those I have afflicted be poured out onto me, a sinner, just like those whom I have hurt.

Nothing more. Nothing less.