Something I have recently discovered: one of the hardest things about the human condition is forgiving yourself. This manifests itself most commonly in reconciling a broken relationship.
For example, when Tommy and I were in pre-marital counseling last year, one of the things the counselor asked us to discuss was our list of non-negotiables in our relationship. The one that instantly came to both of our minds was infidelity. I knew I was vowing to stay with him through whatever life threw at us, so I told him that if he ever cheated on me, I would try my hardest to forgive him and to try and make it work. I was honest with him though, and I confessed that I don’t know if I could do it. I don’t know if I am that strong. This conversation got me thinking: how would I feel if I was the one who did the cheating? What if I had cheated and he was willing to have me back and to try to make it work? I don’t know if I would be able to live with myself. I don’t know if I would be able to bear it. It’s very humbling to think about the fact that after committing one of the worst crimes against my husband, complete betrayal, he would choose to love me, to hold my hand, to make my morning coffee, and take me out to dinner anyway. Anyway. The part that makes me cringe is knowing what I have done, I would sit there and accept unconditional, truly unconditional love that I don’t deserve. I know what I would deserve in that situation. I would deserve to be separated from my husband, from the goodness. He obviously wouldn’t deserve to be rejected, but I wouldn’t deserve the forgiveness. I can’t bear the thought of being guilty and going free.
I believe THAT feeling is a reason why a lot of people leave and don’t come back. It’s not the people who were wronged that always leave, but the people who did the wronging leave too. They don’t come back to the relationship they left because they can’t bear forgiveness. They can’t forgive themselves. They know deep down they don’t deserve the relationship to be reconciled.
It is a task of pure humility to accept that which you don’t deserve, to accept life when you deserve death, especially when you know and feel the weight of the death you deserve. You cannot come into the Kingdom of God proudly.
What I appreciate about God leading me through this understanding of the other side of the story is it has lead me to understand someone who left me. For years I felt rejected, defective, not worth investing in any longer. I thought constantly about what happened. I wracked my brain for some detail that would enlighten me as to the true issue in the relationship, for the real reason she turned her back and gave up on our friendship. I offered a tearful sorry to her even though I was clueless as to what I did. What other loose end was there that I couldn’t see? To this day I don’t know and I don’t think I will ever know for sure. But at least now I can fathom one possibility that makes a little sense. Maybe it was just too hard to look at the messy pieces of our friendship and commit to putting them back together with me, even after my apology. Maybe she felt like she didn’t deserve it. Maybe she couldn’t forgive herself because of the humility it takes to do that.
All of this has given me a new perspective on our God. I can imagine how hard it would be to forgive myself if I cheated on Tommy. It’s just near impossible to forgive oneself in general from personal mistakes. Reality is that I have to face my faults and sins if I want to accept God’s grace. But I also know what it feels like to hold a hand out in reconciliation to someone and have them walk away. Pain and rejection only inadequately describe the feeling. Imagine how our God feels when he extends his hand and offers you a blank slate, a white robe, and because you can’t bear the weight of your past, you reject him. That is some pride to elevate your sense of comfort to more important than life, more important than your relationship with the Creator. Who are we to do such a thing? What a God we have that he still gives us the choice to begin with.
