Permission Granted

Today is Super Bowl Sunday.  Last year on Super Bowl Sunday, we went to a party at the neighbor’s house in Nicaragua.  We didn’t really know anyone, which meant it was out of both of our comfort zones, but even more for Jon, but we went!  We were the newbies in a foreign country and knew we must do things like this to make friends and start to find our place.  It ended up being a really fun night.  We had some good food, great conversation and even shared a special moment at one point during the half time show.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  But it wasn’t yesterday, it was a year ago.  For the past almost 10 months, ever day has been about what was going on a year ago…how the landscape of life can look so vastly different in just one year.  

The past few days I have struggled….struggled hard with depression, lack of motivation, sadness, anger and an overall sense of the unfairness of life.  Mind you, this is not me everyday.  Most days I’m sad, but I look for joy.  I am discouraged, but I seek out hope.  But not everyday.  Some days lately I’m just tired.

I’m tired of crying.  I’m tired of being alone.  I’m tired of missing my soulmate with every bone in my body.  I’m tired of making all the decisions, being the one left to figure things out.  I’m tired of being the only parent, the only provider.  I’m tired of not having a shoulder to lean on or a warm hug at the end of the day.  I’m tired of going to bed alone and waking up alone.  I’m tired of being the one to make the coffee every morning and the one to check the oil and clean out my car.  I’m tired of sitting alone in church, of being the fifth wheel.  I’m tired of looking in the mirror and wondering if anyone will ever think I’m pretty again.  I’m tired.     

Grief is an interesting beast.  It can bring out your best and your worst.  In my grief, I have given myself permission to do a lot of things this year, and not all of them were good.  I gave myself permission not to work for months, to disengage from life.  I gave myself permission to wallow, to abandon healthy habits, to eat and drink all the wrong things.  I gave myself permission to isolate, not interact with people, not return messages, to hibernate in my room if I felt like it.  I didn’t need to make excuses - my whole life was the excuse.  But there is one thing I decided I would not give myself permission to do.  I will not give myself permission to become bitter.  It’s a choice, you know.  As painful as life may be, whether or not we become bitter is still a choice.  So many choices we have....so many ways we grant ourselves permission.

Recently I spent some time around a person who is also suffering deeply with unimaginable sorrow  Over the course of our time together, this person said some very hurtful things to me.  I may look like a tough cookie on the outside, but my feelings are actually quite fragile, especially at this point in my life.  Maybe the things she said wouldn’t have bothered me as much at a different point in time, but right now it’s like the skin has been ripped off my body and every nerve ending is exposed.  I’ve poured over the things she said, wishing I had responded this way or that, wondering WHY she felt the need to say such things, and I arrived at only one conclusion: she’s in pain.  You’ve heard the saying, “hurt people hurt people.”  Well, I don’t believe that.  All of us are hurt people.  There isn’t a person walking the planet that has not been hurt in some way.  I think bitter people hurt people.  By anyone’s standards, she has every right to be bitter and angry and I have no right to judge her.  I get it.  She has permission.  Her process is her own.  My process is my own.    

So what do I do on the days like today when I feel quite entitled to my anger, quite entitled to my fragile state, and yes, to my bitterness?  Well, after a good cry, I unclench my fists, throw up my hands in worship and say out loud that I choose forgiveness.  I forgive Jon for his flawed thinking, for not reaching out, for making the most tragic decision that shattered the lives of everyone he loved.  He didn’t mean to do it.  That was his illness, not his character and his last act does not define who he was.  I choose to hold on to who he was apart from that moment in time.  I forgive people who look back and say they “could see it coming,” who are really saying that I SHOULD HAVE seen it coming.  I forgive the people who don’t want to talk about it, who just want to move on, who just want me to move on.  I forgive them for saying insensitive things and even mean things.  I forgive doctors who didn’t warn us of the dangers of general anesthesia, doctors who didn’t see what was going on and do more.  I forgive those who said they would “be there for me,” who are nowhere to be found.  And lastly, the most challenging of all, I forgive myself for not knowing, for not understanding, for not doing more, for not being enough, for not turning my car around and heading over to see him when he didn’t answer my text that day.  I forgive myself for not handling this better, for not being stronger, for not working harder, not displaying my faith everyday, for feeling sorry for myself, for the days I feel angry instead of grateful.  I forgive.

I don’t want to be bitter and angry.  I want to be free and healed.  I want to be a light that shines in the darkness.  I want something more than to be defined by my circumstances.  So ok, Jennifer - Be healed.  Be free.  Be victorious.  Be grateful.  Be kind.  Be loving.  Be open.  Be more.  Be strong.  Be vulnerable.  Be who you are in Christ.  Be an overcomer.  Be a light.  Permission granted.