Forgive Me

Excuse me…pardon me…forgive me. Words we say without thought to others as a reflex, the ingrained. It’s part of the politeness that is expected and yet inwardly we are rude to the most important person. We are critical and often ruthless. We dredge up our faults as a lashing-reminder that we fall short, we don’t make the mark, and we’re somehow damaged beyond total repair.

Our brokenness is our excuse not to move forward, not to get out of our despair and to remain in the safety of the cocoon others cannot or do not want to penetrate. The place we call refuge is an illusion cleverly created to appease the mind because that is where the torture resides. We find ways to quiet the voices inside that accuse us, that make us feel guilty, ashamed and not worthy of any forgiveness.

Forgive me? Why should that be? I have not earned it. I cannot or will not earn it. To be honest, I do not deserve it. It will always be outside my reach. That is the thought of all of us and it washes over like a tidal waves and engulfs us when we least expect it. It leaves us cripple and vulnerable. The aftermath is the rawness of self-awareness, the fault and blame lies with the “me”, the “I”, the person I am so intimately acquainted with.

And yet, deep down like everyone else, I do want to forgive this person I know so well. I want a second, a third or umpteenth chances to prove that I’m not so bad. I make mistakes. I want the opportunity to not only shine on the outside but within. I want the peace inside to last longer. I wonder why it’s so hard to forgive myself for being flawed. My imperfections glare at me, taunt me at times and whisper in a menacing tone, you cannot and will not forgive. It holds me captive and every time I feel like I’m about to break free, it drags me back like a bully. I wonder, what is wrong with me?

There is a voice that is louder than my own that pulls me like an opposite pole. It becomes louder and louder with conviction of what I should believe. The goal is to drown my own voice of unforgiveness and pity. These two brothers that haunt and destroy start to bow to this known voice. Its crescendo reverberates within my being and washes over me like a soothing blanket. I feel peace and I begin to accept that perhaps there is forgiveness for me. I forgive me for small short comings. I forgive me for wrong attitudes. I forgive me for wrong expectations and regrets. I forgive me for bad choices whose consequences dance before my mind’s eyes. As I go through my laundry list, it becomes harder and the forgiveness begins to slow down but the music in my heart that has been released is relentless. It pushes me, encourages me, and chides me to move ahead. I surrender and I forgive…me. I forgive me for the bad and the ugly. I begin to let go.

This becomes a daily practice for me with dismay that changes to exhilaration at the discovery that there’s freedom in the forgiveness of me. I forgive me. I pause and I accept. Tomorrow I may have to repeat. I look forward and I don’t but I know I must. The ‘cannot’ or ‘will not’ is no longer a valid excuse. I will forgive because I have already been forgiven.