February 27: Thousands of Hours, God's Love Number Nine and Ten, Forgiveness Fairy Tale

[Ives] had wanted to go on with Father Tom about how he really felt.  That forgiveness was something he had struggled with for years.  That he spent thousands of hours in church kneeling until his legs went numb, waiting for his burdens to be lifted.  That he had started to calcify and, if anything, grown more rigid with time.  That for all his prayers he had somehow felt cheated, especially when he thought about how he had allowed himself to become so indifferent to his wife's feelings.  That nothing had come from without and he resented that.

Ives struggles for years after his son's death.  He can't forgive his son's killer.  He can't forgive God for "allowing" his son to be murdered.  And those feelings slowly start to turn him to stone.  He can't respond to his wife and retreats from all of the dreams that used to give him pleasure.  Dreams of traveling to Europe and the Holy Land.  Standing on the shores of the Sea of Galilee.  He becomes an empty, scarred shell.

I have been having a little problem with forgiveness recently.  I work for the same health care system that recently terminated my sister because of an extended illness.  When I'm at my job, I find myself thinking how much I don't believe in my employer.  It's not about helping patients get healthier.  It's about how much money can be charged in order to make patients healthier.  And employees are as disposable as latex gloves.

Those are my feelings right now.  I own them.  I'm not proud of them.  Forgiveness is sort of a big thing for Christians.  I'm a Christian.  Therefore, I should forgive.  I prefer to simmer and fester at this point.  Regardless of the name of this blog, I am not a saint.  I'm an imperfect person, wrestling with imperfect emotions.

So, on this evening of imperfection, I have to talk about God's love for me.  Numbers nine and ten.

Number nine:  I had a great time teaching last night.  We talked about suicidal penguins and semicolons and revenge porn.  Pretty typical for a poetry workshop.  I really felt lucky at the end of the night.  I was able to earn money doing what I love to do.

Number ten:  It was a gorgeous day.  Ten degrees.  Sunny.  No snow.  It's supposed to be even warmer tomorrow.  After a few weeks with high temperatures of around three degrees, it's going to feel like the tropics.

Once upon a time, a lumberjack named Jack cut down the favorite tree of King Leopold the Terrible.  When Leopold found out what Jack had done, he sentenced Jack to death.

As he was being led to the gallows, Jack begged, "Please tell King Leopold that I'm very sorry for cutting down his favorite tree."

A messenger was dispatched to the castle with Jack's message.  The messenger returned with a message from Leopold.

"Did King Leopold forgive me?" Jack asked as the rope was tightened around his neck.

"Yes," the messenger said.  "His majesty accepts your apology."

"Then, I'm absolved of my offense?" Jack said.

"Yes," the messenger said.

"Did King Leopold say anything else?" Jack said.

"Yes," the messenger nodded.

"What?" Jack said.

"King Leopold says, 'Your ass is mine.'"

The gallows floor opened, and Jack fell through.

Moral of the story:  Jack is a stupid name if you're a lumberjack.

Grudges are my friends right now