To Live and Forgive.

I have a tattoo. I am not exactly the sort that fits the stereotype of an inked person. One, I am clean cut. I prefer shirts with collars tucked into pants complete with a belt. Years of private school dress code has stuck with me. My clothing is boring – if I wear a striped shirt I am being bold. And I freak out if people write on my skin with pen or marker. I like things untainted, pure, and orderly. Nine years later, I still love my tattoo. I love what it symbolizes.

The ink on my skin is the symbol for life. To the best of my knowledge, it literally means, “to live.” There is a story behind my marking.

Twenty-one years ago, I no longer wanted to live. I believed the world would be better off without me. Call it adolescent angst; call it depression. I called it a desperate need to get away from my life. I am fairly certain I did not want to die, but I certainly did not want to live either. I wanted the pain ripped out of my insides. I wanted the hurt to stop. I wanted to be resurrected. My only hope was to either successfully take my life, or at least make a valiant enough attempt that someone would notice and get me the help I needed. Neither really happened. I put on a smile. I made some life changes and instead of seeking negative attention, I sought after affirmation. I stopped being an obnoxious brat and focused on helping others. While I became a good kid and young adult, I never really found my vitality. I was passively stuck in victim mode – disempowered with no real sense of self-agency.

Nine years ago, I made the conscience decision I was no longer a victim to my circumstances. I was tired of merely surviving; I was ready to thrive. I permanently marked this decision. I covered over the scars on my wrist – covered the death wishes. It was an imbedded reminder to never turn back. It has become my permanent motto -- to always choose life; to choose vitality.

Choosing life meant to start feeling again. I had to experience the anger and rage I had previously tried to kill via neglect and ignoring it. The anger led me to sadness; to mourning. And finally, I was able to forgive myself and my enemies. The path to vitality was really a slow process of forgiveness that did indeed lead to a place of peace and true healing.

I was recently in a conversation about forgiveness, and how the Christian mandate is to forgive our enemies. But the conversation took an interesting turn, that being can we be too quick to forgive? I think the answer is yes and no. If we are choosing to “forgive and forget” at the cost of denying our own injuries that need to be healed, the yes, we can forgive too quickly. Forgiving too quickly may lead us to choose being numb, feeling nothing, and surrendering our vitality. At the same time, I believe we are called to forgive immediately. Confusing, right?

Forgiveness is a process. When we are injured, I believe our position should be to immediately forgive our enemy, but recognize that forgiveness is a both immediate and ongoing. I am coming to understand that forgiveness and grief are intertwined. We choose to be actively involved in the process and to continually forgive along the way.  We choose to let go of each new layer of anger and hurt that are uncovered in the process. The deeper we enter into our healing and grieving process, the deeper our forgiveness will go. We experience our own forgiveness to the same depths we are able to forgive others. And if you are like me, the more we understand the extent of injuries, the more we understand the seriousness of the injuries we inflict upon others. We come to grips with our own depravity. Our humility deepens as does our desperate need for grace. As we recognize our own ability to destroy others, it becomes easier to address our enemies with grace and forgiveness for we know deep down we are really no different at all.

Nine years ago, when I made the decision to choose life I did not understand that I was also choosing the path of forgiveness. I was resurrected from death through the process of forgiveness. As we continue in this season of Lent, may we continue to uncover the layers of grievous sins that need forgiven -- sins inflicted upon us and those we have inflicted upon others. May we keep our eyes fixed on the promise of resurrection and life.