Sorry, sorry, sorry. Six time in half as many days. Not little sorries, either. Not apologizing for stepping on toes, for not having gum, for an oversight. No, this is bigger.
I’m sorry for yelling at you.
I’m sorry for ignoring you.
I’m sorry for hurting you.
Say it because you’re supposed to say it. Sometimes. Say it because you mean it. Sometimes.
I went to church today. Mostly because that’s what I’m supposed to do, and also because my mother would have had words for me, had I not. I thought, as I was walking home, that I’d not apologize. At least not then, anyways.
But I came back and before I had time to harden my heart, to balk at obedience, I realized that I had apologized. I meant it, too. There was forgiveness. And it was done.
But it’s not undone, unsaid.
Because sorry doesn’t wipe away already said. Already done. Already not done. Those things happened. And their memory holds strong, unbidden.
It’s said that God doesn’t remember these things. Doesn’t remember when I yell, at her or Him. Doesn’t remember when I say what I shouldn’t, don’t say what I should. When I hated. When I fume. When I withdraw. When I ignore.
This is fascinating because it’s also said that He forgives them all. Or, is willing to, when I repent. When my heart breaks over things I shouldn’t have done. Forgives it all, forgets it all.
It’s a perfect set-up to keep on yelling, hurting, falling. To keep on saying I’m sorry.
It’ll all be forgiven, forgotten, anyway.
But instead of giving me freedom- license- to say what I know I should not, and do what I know ends in hurt, this forgiveness offered free turns me away from what I know is wrong.
I suppose it’s because this forgiving, forgetting, came at the price of a death on a cross, and it seems a petty, petty thing to hurt so hard the same ones who come with me to drink in forgiveness.
We’re all together hurting, wronging, receiving forgiveness, and to hurt one of them seems a little thing and a very big thing, all at the same time.