Divine Forgiveness

I woke up this morning intending to go on a spoken-word diet,  hung over from the aftereffects of breaking my word to someone I love.  Actually, I first woke around 2 this morning, my stomach in knots over my screw up.

Let's just say I would rather wake to a bleak medical prognosis than to a mess I've made, especially when it's on someone else's turf.

Up too early with no newspaper to read, I picked up The Book Thief, a book I'd meant to start a long time ago.  Immediately, I was swept up by its language, pulled in by the mystery of its narrator (Death itself).  And, for a while, I lost myself to this compelling tale, although its bleak landscape managed to seep from the pages and frame my own less-than-shiny world.

In need of fresh air, I put the book down and walked Finn, the north wind cutting into us as we made our way home.  I could have taken a shorter route, I suppose, but I wanted to feel the elements against my skin.  To suffer, I suppose.  And, anyway, the monkey mind that raced in my head wasn't done talking.  It threw me a dozen scenarios, some ending in heartache, others lightened by the generosity of the person I'd hurt.  I had my favorite script, to be sure, but I wasn't sure this person would buy it.

By midmorning, I had my answer--forgiveness.  Just.  Like.  That.  Well, it did cost me a bit.  But mostly, it saved me.  Saved me from my loud-mouthed, know-it-all, damn-the-consequences self.  Saved me from all those scenarios I'd written in my head, the ones in which I'm alone on an island, separated from those I love the most.

I still might go on a spoken-word diet.  I definitely could benefit from switching to a "lite" version of myself, one that knows when to speak and when to sit silently, honoring the trust that lets another's stories escape from within and fall gently upon my blessed ears.

After all, God gave us just one mouth but two ears.  I should start to pay more attention to that important fact.

“I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”
― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner