Life is filled with moments of forgiving someone or asking to be forgiven. It's a matter of deciding whether to build resentment and allow it to fester, to allow the situation to eat our insides like slow poison, or release the hurt and anger and permit it to take flight. What a joy to feel the weight lifted and know the freedom of having our chalkboard erased!
That is the easy side of forgiving. Many folks, including myself, have great difficulty forgiving themselves. For many years I was filled with remorse and guilt because I couldn't forgive myself.
I was six years old and had started first grade. As the year progressed, my lunch grew more meager each day. Our schoolyard had many large trees which provided shade at lunchtime. I had a favorite spot under a huge sweetgum tree with big roots growing outward, making a fine seat for a little girl. The old pitcher pump was nearby, providing a cool drink to complete one's lunch. One day, I had just sat down to eat my lunch, when one of my classmates approached my tree. My syrup bucket was still unopened and I was trying to imagine what a real lunch looked like; though I knew what that syrup bucket contained and no amount of wishing would change it.
She looked at me with sad eyes and said, “Mama didn't have any flour to make biscuits this morning and told me to ask a friend to divide lunch with me. Will you give me part of yours?”
The next few seconds brought me years of grief because of my answer. I've agonized many times of the reasoning behind my answer. I knew my syrup bucket only contained one biscuit with sugar sprinkled in it. I finally decided it was a shame and embarrassment of having her see my pathetic lunch. Then too, I felt there wasn't enough to share with her. Just half of the biscuit would not ease the gnawing pains of hunger in my stomach! I looked at her and delivered my one-word answer, “NO!” I didn't bother trying to explain the quantity or quality of my lunch, but regret set in immediately. That sealed my fate of having the incident haunt me over the years.
She gave me a smile and said, “That's okay. I'll find someone else.”
I truly believe she forgave me at that moment. Two of the older girls must have heard us because they called to her at once. They always had lunches fit for a king; real store-bought bread and all sorts of fruit and cookies; also a thermos of milk. That little girl couldn't eat all they gave her. I soon began choking on my sugar biscuit and when I had managed half of it, I could not swallow another bite. Tears began to fill my eyes, and I slipped away and had a good cry.
When the bell rang, the little girl asked why I'd been crying. She seemed so concerned and caring, I missed my perfect chance of asking her to forgive me. I did not reply!
Mama asked me if I felt sick when I got home. I told her of a headache but a heartache would have been more truthful. Fear of a spanking kept my silence. Mama had always taught us to share whatever we had even if we didn't have much.
My little friend moved away before the year was over. I missed her and wondered if I would ever see her again. Over the years she would invade my thoughts from time to time. Finally, half a century later, we both moved back to Newton County. In the meantime, I had learned how to say, “Please forgive me!”When I saw her, I put my arms around her and uttered those words.
She looked surprised an asked, “What on Earth for?” We found a quiet spot and I poured out my heart to her, how I had hurt through the years each time I remembered my refusal to share that biscuit. She cried and assured me she never remembered the incident. She then scolded me for being so hard on myself. I walked away with a lighter feeling because I knew at last I had forgiven “Louise”.